


Birthright

by saarebitch



Series: Death and the Maiden [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gore warning, Sexual Content, Violence Warning, death warning, drinking warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saarebitch/pseuds/saarebitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elain of Clan Lavellan has been training her entire life to earn the title "Maiden of the Hunt". When the time comes to claim her birthright, she finds it more difficult than she could possibly imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elder

**Author's Note:**

> Revas belongs to drathe on tumblr.
> 
> Tried something new this time around. This is written from the perspective of Elain's mentor, the previous Maiden of the Hunt. The next chapter will pick back up from El's point of view.

The Vimmark moutains stretched along the southern coast of the Free Marches. They were brooding sentries, jealously guarding the lush plains and verdant countryside of the north. They were not as ominous as the Frostbacks or as mysterious as The Hundred Pillars, nor were they as desolate as the Gamordan Peaks. But the Vimmarks were not to be taken lightly, and their foreboding presence jutted out from the towering redwoods of the Planasene Forest. 

The mountains had a way of tearing down a person to their very bones, leaving nothing but the foundation for a new life to be built upon. They tested your determination, your will, and your ability to survive. They took everything away, rebuilt you up as if out of clay, shaped you, and released you back into the world, a new person. The ultimate test was whether or not you could survive the treacherous peaks, the crumbling paths, the isolation; but once you came out alive, the entire world would move to meet your steps. It was the last test for the future Maiden of the Hunt. Winter in the mountains, come out changed and alive, and then you will wear the Mantle. 

Old Bida stared at the craggy spires of the Vimmarks, her eyes now rheumy and no longer full of the light of her youth. Fifty years ago she had stood in this very spot, looking on the peaks with optimism and excitement. Now her heart was filled with regret and loss. So much time had passed since she walked out of the Wilderness and was rewarded with the Mantle. So much time had passed since she earned her title as Maiden of the Hunt. Time was not kind. Her hands now shook constantly, fingers crippled and stiff from years of using her bow. Old injuries kept her from standing too long, and her breath always came short. The bloom of her youth had flown away, and now a new initiate stood with her, waiting to test her soul against the Wild as so many more had before her in the fifty years she wore the Mantle. 

She turned her head to look at the girl now. Elain was small, short even for an elf, but well built. She was covered in lean muscle, a side effect of years of training, and her stance spoke of an air of entitlement. She was the kind of person who demanded attention at all times, and often even deserved it. She focused on the horizon, the sun peaking from behind the mountains in a pinkish haze, her lips pursed in deep thought. Elain was the opposite of what Old Bida was in her huntress days; wild and dangerous compared to her own naive and carefree nature. Years of living as a figurehead brought bitterness to her once light heart though, and she grew resentful of her position. Bida knew that would not happen to Elain. The girl knew her duty, and had trained for it with a ruthlessness that frightened other elves in the clan. But it would keep her alive out there. A pity more huntresses didn’t possess her mettle, or they may have not met their doom in these dark passages.

And yet Bida did sense sadness in the girl standing next to her. Her posture was usually so challenging, but today, it seemed deflated. Something weighed heavily on her heart, but she would not pry. The life of the Maiden was a lonely one, as Bida had learned, and coddling her now would only cause more trouble as she wore the Mantle. The clan had already sent her off and now all that was left was her immediate family, waiting as Elain steeled herself to say her goodbyes. She put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“You must go now, da’len, or else you will lose your nerve,” Bida said sternly, brooking no argument. Elain looked at her and nodded, her face now cold and impassive. Bida did not smile, but she felt her heart warm at the resolve the girl showed today. She had learned her lessons well. She motioned to Paeris, Elain’s brother, for the small stool he held for her. The morning had been long and full of ritual, and all she wanted to do was let her old joints rest while she watched the girl listen to encouraging words from her family. 

Paeris embraced the girl first, a hug that only siblings can share. It was full of secrets and affection, whispered memories long gone. He said to her in a low voice, “You can do this.” It was more for himself than Elain. He'd always be over-protective of his sister, always the doting older brother who tried to hide the problems and calamities of the world from her. Elain was wise enough to know that he needed it for his own piece of mind rather than as a way of controlling her. This separation would be hard on Paeris. 

Next was Sohta, the mother of her childhood friend, Revas. After the girl’s mother had died in childbirth, Sohta nursed her as a tiny baby, her own son being six months old and weaning at the time. She was the closest thing to a mother Elain had known. Sohta cried dramatically, distraught over the thought of losing the girl who she thought of as a daughter. Elain comforted her, stroked her arms, called her “Mamae”, and assured her she would be fine. Sohta was not convinced. The hysterics grated on Bida's nerves, and she silently hoped for someone to interrupt her fawning.

Her request was answered as Master Vhannas lightly tugged on Sohta's arm and pulled her to the side. He said no words to his daughter. He knew above everyone what she was capable of, since he shaped her from her birth just as steadily as the mountains themselves would. His only guidance was a small kiss on her head, and a pat on her shoulder. It was enough. 

At last, the girl’s best friend approached her. His eyes had purplish bags underneath, a sign of a restless night. His lips were a thin line, teeth most likely biting the inside to prevent him from losing his composure. They stared at one another, obviously unsure of what to say, both hoping the other would speak up. When neither one did, Elain pulled the leather cord on her neck and lifted it off over her head. Attached to the cord was a small ivory halla, one she was never seen without. She grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed the halla inside, forcing his fingers closed around it. He shook his head and moved his hand towards her, but she pushed it back and said, “Take care of it for me while I'm gone. You can give it back when I return.” He nodded his head in agreement and placed the necklace around his own neck, the ivory halla touching the onyx halla he wore himself. Old Bida realized that both figurines had been carved by the same hand. Her own hands twitched. 

Elain turned to walk away but paused. She shifted the pack slung around her shoulder, and turned back to face the boy. She stood on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on Revas’ cheek, a fleeting thought she most likely needed to get out of her head before embarking on her test. The boy flushed under her kiss and watched her with his mouth agape as she began to walk away towards the mountains. She did not turn around again, and after a few moments, she disappeared into the dark woods leading her to the meandering mountain paths. 

The group stood in silence, waiting for something, anything to break the still quiet. But the forest was eerily silent, and their hearts weighed as heavy as the coming winter chill. Old Bida refused to wait any longer though. She was too old to mourn something that wasn’t lost yet, and motioned for Sohta to bring her halla to ride back to camp. Her old bones wouldn’t make it that far on their own, so Sohta guided the beast as Bida wrapped herself in wool blankets on its back.  
The men walked ahead of them, Master Vhannas in stony silence, and Paeris throwing accusing glances towards Revas. She smiled to herself at their artless anger over Elain’s action. The girl’s decisions had been made by her father her entire life, and her brother felt she was incapable of handling anything beyond the duty expected of her. They both underestimated her intentions. An act of free will as innocent as a tiny kiss showed how aware Elain was of her life and role, and Bida was proud of her ability to surprise and confuse. She would make a fine Maiden. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

Later in the day, once the sun returned and the camp settled down from the morning's rituals, Old Bida sent for the boy to discuss thoughts weighing on her mind. She sipped on her tea and tried to ward off the cool air under the heavy blankets. It was of no use. The wind snapped right through her, and she never seemed to be able to warm her old bones. Each winter was more difficult. She would not make it through many more. 

When Revas arrived, he was out of breath and red in the face. She invited him in her small canopied resting place with a gesture of her hand. He nodded graciously and sat on the stool near her cot. 

“Would you like some tea, da'len? I'm afraid it has gotten cold from this bitter wind. But you do look a tad overheated,” she offered a cup and winked at him. 

He smiled at her and reached for the cup. His lip was cracked and bleeding, and his hands were wrapped in leather. He had been fighting. The young hunters of the clan often grew restless and practiced hand-to-hand training on each other. It was a way to work some of the steam out of their hot blood. She knew that the boy was notoriously aggressive though, and she theorized that he was working out more than just steam. 

“Thank you, hahren. I was going a round against Twig when the runner you sent arrived,” he apologized and sipped the tea. 

“Twig? Is that what Kell's boy is calling himself nowadays?” she inquired as she drank from her own cup.

Revas smacked his lips and set his cup down on the ground next to him. “Yeah. Well, someone else gave him the nickname. We were hunting and Twig took down a wild boar that was on a path to gore Sorn. He cracked its back,” he made a snapping gesture with his hands, “Like a twig. It kind of stuck.”

Old Bida chuckled, “It seems all the young hunters are making names for themselves by saving poor Sorn'il from impending doom. Except for you, of course. You earned your fame in a much more...heroic way.”

She reached down between her furs and the frame of her cot and pulled out a metal flask. Carefully, she popped the lid with her shaking hands and poured a cap full of the strong spirits in her tea. 

“I've heard even the Diceni Clan talk about your deeds in the Autini Valley,” she continued, “That band of slave hunters had been harassing clans in the Marches for months, spiriting away too many scouts and wandering hunters. You saved not only Elain's life, but the freedom of many more.” 

Revas' hand rubbed the back of his head, and Bida noticed a flush creeping up his neck. He was still uncomfortable talking about the ambush, it seemed. It was strange seeing him so reserved. The boy was usually so willing to flaunt his victories and rub salt in the wounds of those he defeated. She wondered if all the loss he endured had calmed his hot blood a bit. 

“I would've rather gotten famous for breaking a boar's back, to be honest. Autini was a damn nightmare,” he replied, his voice betraying his discomfort. 

“And yet, there would've been three dead elves in that valley instead of one if it hadn't been for you,” she stated. It wasn't a placation, it was a fact. And the boy was smart enough not to try to argue with her. 

“Why did you ask me to come?” he questioned. The idle chatter was over, and he was making a move to change the subject. 

“The truth? I wanted to speak with you about your future as Banal'ras,” she started. He barked a laugh and shook his head at her.

“What makes you think I want to be the Shadow of the Maiden?”

“Do you think my eyes are so bad I cannot see what's obvious, boy? You've been her shadow since she learned she could wrap you around her little finger. This is just an official recognition of it,” she replied coolly. She took another sip of her tea, feeling his mood change immediately. 

“You make a lot of assumptions, Old Bida. Elain doesn't control me. No one does,” he stood up with barely concealed anger, ready to leave. She had to reign him back in. If she didn't, he would refuse to work with her out of spite. 

“Leaving so soon? And without giving proper deference to your elder? Hmph,” she put on airs of offense, “What would your poor father say?”

He stopped dead in his tracks. His whole body seemed to tense and go into a supernatural stillness. His fingers flexed, as though there was a phantom bow he was grasping between them. He was on the full defensive. 

Her arrow had hit its mark. Revas' father had died only a couple of years prior on a hunt. He had been a pious man, respectful and serious. The man had always tried guide his son towards a more humble demeanor, and to curb his fiery temper. But just as the halla his mother had raised him around, no force could chain the boy's spirit. It would serve him well if he only learned to harness it. Bida planned to test whether or not he could. 

“My father would be offended at your lack of respect for a fully-blooded hunter, hahren,” he said through gritted teeth. His hand balled into a fist, a physical sign of his rage brewing. 

“I spoke no disrespect. Elain does not command you with her words, certainly. Your heart is another matter,” her voice was barely above a whisper. No one was meant to hear her words but him. 

“More assumptions.”

“I am not blind. I know what I saw this morning in the mountain passage. And Vhannas will know as well. If you would like to see yourself quietly banned to another clan or worse, then by all means, walk away,” she watched as his fist uncurled. 

“I'm not afraid of Vhannas,” he said with more authority than she would have expected. 

“You should be. He is a subtle man. His means of ridding his daughter of you will be unexpected but entirely rational. No one will argue on your behalf, and you will be disposed of as soon as nothing can come back to him,” she spoke of the darker side of Vhannas. The one very few knew of, and even fewer lived through once they saw it. 

“Are you trying to tell me that Vhannas...Master Vhannas, our head craftsman...would have me killed? For being friends with his daughter?” Revas lowered his voice, but his disbelief was clear.

“More than friends, and don't deny it. You saved his daughter in Autini. That is the only thing protecting you now. Once she is Maiden, you will become a distraction for her in his eyes. Her willful kiss this morning is proof to him. That will be all he needs,” she spelled out for him what he seemed too naive to see. 

He walked back to the little stool next to her cot and sat back down. He reached for the flask she had pulled out earlier and she handed it to him. He drank deeply before giving it back to her, and put his head in his hands. The truth was often hard to accept, but a hunter knew how important self-preservation was. The boy would make the right decision. 

“What do I do?” he lifted his head, cheeks red and eyes tired. 

“Ideally, you must get Paeris on your side. He can help convince his father you aren't a threat to Elain. If you cannot, you must keep silent. Do not tell a soul your intention to compete to become Banal'ras. But in either situation, you must win the right to be her Shadow. You will hold the most power in that position. Even Vhannas would not make a move against the Banal'ras.” The pieces of the game moved before her eyes, and she saw every outcome of every action, as she knew he would. They were trained as hunters. Trained to take advantage of their surroundings. Trained to see every weakness and exploit it. 

“What if I don't win the title?” he pressed.

“If you, the best hunter in Clan Lavellan, cannot win the title, then perhaps you deserve the fate Vhannas decides for you,” she said coldly. 

“He will decide nothing for me,” he said as he rose to leave again. There was little else to say. The plots had been spelled out, her suggestions laid before him like offerings at a shrine. He stopped just before he exited her small pavilion, refusing to face her. 

“You will not decide for me either, Old Bida. And neither will Elain. What I do is my choice. Forget that, and I will reveal your clumsy plotting to Vhannas myself,” he said with quiet menace as he walked away. 

She smiled as she drank what was left in her flask. She had underestimated him just as much as Vhannas. It was not a mistake she would make again.


	2. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolation in the mountains tests Elain's resolve.

Wind ripped through the abandoned passages at the Vimmarks’ peaks, like a wounded beast. It thrashed and roared its pain and rage, blowing snow and ice into anyone daring to threaten its solitude. The wind beat upon Elain’s back, whipping her cloak and hair into her face. She could barely see anything in front of her, her vision full of the white frenzy of the storm. This was the third day of the blizzard and by far the most trying.

Her progress through the mountains had been delayed by the unforgiving weather. There were few places to make shelter, and in a white-out like this, trying to set up camp would be useless. She ran her hands across the rock face on her left to guide her, frost and ice turning her fingers raw and numb, hoping to find some small alcove to hide away in until visibility came back. As she felt her legs faltering and her mind swimming in a fog, she knew if she did not find something soon, the mountains would take her.

With luck, or divine providence, she felt a break in the rock face. It was a narrow crevice, but there was enough room for her to fit inside and take shelter from the storm. Maybe, she’d be able to get enough rest to make it to the other side of the mountain face by tomorrow. Until she did that, she chanced getting stranded in blistering tempests such as the one she was lost in now.

She moved into the crevice in the rock. It was still cold, and slick with ice, but it protected her from that deadly wind bellowing in her ears. She leaned against the craggy wall and slid down it to sit. The walls were too close together for her to be comfortable. Her knees hit sharp rocks and jagged edges pressed into her back. She awkwardly tried to remove her pack to see if that helped, but she could barely maneuver in the small space. Instead, she reached deeper into the crevice to test if she could lie down instead. The passage grew narrower, but she might be able to fit her feet in there. She ran her hands over the ground to move any debris out of the way, and she felt something soft, like fur. Her breath caught in her throat.

Nothing larger than a fox could fit in that narrow gap, but even a fox can bite. The fur was cold though, unnaturally so. The creature was probably dead. She moved her hand around and felt tattered cloth and what felt like bones underneath. Not an animal, then. It was some poor soul who came looking for refuge in a storm like she had and never left. It was most likely a cloak and she could use it to layer on herself. In death, this person may help her live.

She pulled on the fur attached to the cloth and brought it up to her face to examine it. It smelled of dust and stone punctuated by the stench of decay. It didn’t deter her; she was used to the odor decomposition. One did not live their entire life in nature without getting used to the scent. _Maggots devouring the corpse of a deer, its final death throes captured in its bared teeth and twisted legs. They feasted on the rotting guts spilled over the ground, filling their greedy mouths with bile and blood, a mass of writhing frenzy, consumption being all they knew. The air was thick with humidity and death, flies buzzing and biting at her face. “We should keep moving,” said another voice._

The vision sprang into her mind, vivid and clear, the taste of a vicious memory on her tongue. These visions were becoming more regular the longer she was in isolation. It was to be expected. The Veil was thin in these haunted passages, and spirits and premonitions preyed on weak minds. She needed to focus. She returned her attention to the sight of the tattered cloak, feeling it over with her numb hands. The fur on it was a dull grey, but it had once been white. It was the pelt of a hare, sewed onto the collar of the sturdy, heavy wool, held shut by an intricately carved pin. The whorls and shapes on the pin were something she was familiar with. She knew how to carve them with her eyes closed. Dalish design.

This cloak belonged to a Maiden initiate.

Weeks ago, when she had first started this journey, she may have thrown the cloak down and left the narrow shelter in fear of her own mortality. Now, she just stroked the fur idly, her heart as stony and cold as the rock itself. The woman who wore this cloak, and died in it, had been like her. She tried to scale these mountains in hopes of finding enlightenment, only to end up freezing to death. She did not know when this woman had embarked on her final Trial, nor would she want to. The initiate had obviously not been strong enough to survive, so it wasn't important anymore. She failed. _I am different._ _I will not die here. I will not fail_ , Elain convinced herself.

She was beginning to understand why this trial was the most important one in becoming Maiden. All her lessons pointed towards the Final Rite of the Maiden as finding a way to survive amongst the gifts of Andruil, but she felt there was more. It wouldn't surprise her if Old Bida had only taught her what she wanted to hear, and left out what it was all supposed to mean. There were bits and pieces forming in her mind, shapes shifting to fit the puzzle of the significance of all this. If she closed her eyes tightly, she could almost see the answer taking shape.

_Frenzied writhing of larvae, consuming consuming consuming, black eyes and segmented bodies. But not larvae anymore. Bodies still. Bodies of elves, slick with sweat, writhing and groaning and naked. Ecstasy drawn from raw lips, each part dripping wet with want for more. Segmented now, cut open and gaping, blood rushing out and pooling on top of them. A dark blanket of sanguine pleasure, moans of orgiastic release echoing off the walls of her skull._

She snapped her eyes open. The wriggling maggots still clung to her vision, projected onto the rock wall she now focused on. She brought her hand to them and wiped them away. The mass evaporated like smoke, lingering only for seconds before it was gone. Her exhaustion was making it harder to fight off the invading illusions. Sleep would help. Part of her wished she was not so near the remains of one of her predecessors, but she was too tired to think anymore about the bones of someone long dead. She pulled the ruined cloak over her head and shivered as she began to doze off. 

–

_She was in the strange forest again. Trees reached and reached towards the sky, never seeming to end. The entire place was black; the trees, the underbrush, the climbing vines, the dark moss, the jagged stones. Not only black, though. Everything seemed to shine, as if it were made of polished jet. Light came from somewhere, but it was overcast, as if a dark sun had been filtered through a darker cloud. The sinister hue, the eerily-lit shine, and the utter, complete silence made it frightening. This was not a forest she knew of. Forests were teeming with life and death, growth and decay, birth and rebirth. This forest was more like an elaborate carving; a facade of what a forest is meant to look like. She sensed an ominous presence wearing the mask of familiarity in the gnarled branches climbing towards the empty void above._

_Elain tried to walk across the fallen leaves and tangled roots, but they were sharp and cut her feet. Each step left a new cut, a new pain, and a new trail of blood. She never made it far before the pain overtook her. Each time she was in this forest, it was the same. A few steps, then collapse in pain. This time, she heard running water though. A stream, perhaps? Another step, another sharp agony. If she could only make it to the water…._

_The forest shifted and pulled the stream to her. It often shifted, but never to her advantage. She was wary of the sudden turn of her luck. The water looked dark, like the rest of the forest. Her heart raced in fear at the thought of putting her bloodied feet in there to soothe them. But the blood pooled at her feet, a bright red amongst the black, and she was acutely aware of the pain. With apprehension, she stuck the tip of one foot in, her toe turning in the water. It was semi-transparent. She could see the tip of her toe in the water, though it was toned in gray._

_Her pain outweighing her fear, she stepped into the water gingerly, and realized it was warm. Warm like a bath. Warm like home. She smiled at her fortune, and sunk her whole body up to her neck under the water. It had been so long since she felt warm. Her body floated in the gentle ebb of the stream, and for the first time since she left her clan, she felt relaxed. She opened her eyes briefly, and she saw her._

_The woman was never this close before. Elain had only caught glimpses of her the other times she was in this forest, a shadow amongst shadows. But now she stood a hundred yards from her spot in the stream, and she could make out more of her now. The woman was dark-skinned and very tall. Taller than anyone she'd ever seen. Even taller than the horned Tal-Vashoth she had encountered near Sundermount. Her shoulders were wide, and her waist narrow. She had an athletic build, her body wrapped in corded muscle. Her dark hair was cut very short, loose curls sticking to sweaty skin and her face was square-shaped with a strong cleft-chin jutting out. Her entire aura spoke of power and strength, from the long neck to the sharp nose to the very stance she held herself in._

_Most remarkable was her armor and weapon. Her armor was smooth and threatening all at once. It seemed to be carved of gemstone, polished like the jet forest. It was smooth and glowed dark red, the color of the blood that had pooled at her feet earlier. Jagged ornaments stuck out from the armor; her gauntlets and shoulder pauldrons were covered in them. What exactly the ornaments were made of, she could not tell._

_The weapon the woman held was a golden spear, so elaborate that Elain couldn't even fathom how it was created. The spear glowed with golden light, a bright glare against the dark forest. The spearhead was elegant and terrifying all at once, with its razor sharp point and delicate engravings of hares. The light in the shaft itself seemed to move of its own volition, flowing upwards to the beautiful tip, brightening in pulses, then flowing back downwards. The spear must have been enchanted with flame or had some source that made the shaft incredibly hot, for when it touched the water in the stream where the woman placed the bottom of it, steam arose in great clouds._

_Suddenly, Elain was aware of why the water was warm. The spear itself was heating it. She had never seen anything like that spear, and she was suddenly frightened of the woman. She attempted to stay still and quiet, hoping she would not notice her. Her feet touched the bottom of the stream to hold herself in place, but the subtle movement somehow alerted this dangerous dream specter. The woman looked directly at her, and smiled._

_Her eyes were nothing but black glass. Black like the forest, black like the sky, black like the void. But her mouth. It was a wide smile, though her lips were thin, but wicked, with glistening teeth showing through. Her teeth were sharpened and conical, like a dragon, and red and polished like the armor she wore. They glowed with a sinister purpose as the bright, blinding light of her spear reflected off of them. Slithering tendrils of inky magic spilled out from the spaces between her teeth and flowed down her chin, down her neck, and then, downwards still. Once the strange bitumen hit the black ground, it turned into a pile of pale, squirming maggots, flailing and surrounding her feet as she laughed. Then, the woman began to walk towards Elain, and she could hear the squishing sound of crushed maggots under her feet with each step._

_She shook in terror, her bones rattling like a heavy sistrum, and the water suddenly went ice cold._

–

Elain awoke with a start, a scream caught in her throat. Her heat felt as though it was going to beat out of her chest, and she had to take long, deep breaths to calm herself.  _Just another dream_ , she told herself.  _Just a dream._ She wast still in the small crevice in the mountain, she was still cold, but she was also still alive.

But she wasn't alone. The rattling of her bones she heard in her nightmare was still there. It was louder now, as if she was sitting right next to it. With a sudden awareness, she moved out of the crevice in time to see the bones of the dead Maiden initiate reanimate. Her breathing came rapid and her skin crawled, but she quickly assessed and calmed herself. The Veil was thin here, spirits possessing corpses was not uncommon. Her emotional state from the nightmare might have drawn something here. 

The skeletal remains stood just inside the crevice now, shrouded in its shadow, swaying back and forth, hitting the walls of the small space. Elain had fought an uncountable amount of undead since becoming a fully-blooded huntress, but none chilled her as deeply as this one. The thing groaned, a raspy voice that reverberated in the hollow chest. It was otherworldly, echoes from across the Beyond, and Elain aimed her bow. 

“Eeeegggghhhh,” the creature said, “youuuuuuuuuuuuu huntttt meee?”

She understood the words. They were muffled by death, but she understood.

“You are not of this world, foul creature. I will send you back home,” Elain responded, taking a few steps backwards to put distance between her and the presence. 

“Youuuuu aare myyyy hommme lathallannnn,” the creature still swayed, still hit its bony shoulders against the rocky walls. Elain didn't trust her aim to make the shot through the gap in the rock where the creature stood, especially as it moved like that. She had to lure it out.

“We are not kin, spirit. I am a mortal, an elf. You are an intruder. This place is not for you,” she goaded the monster on, trying to get it to engage. 

“Mmmaaaaa emmmaaaa haaareellllll,” the corpse groaned out. 

“I fear nothing,” Elain said, her voice level and eyes sharp. The creature moved forward, putting one battered leg outside of the crevice. She felt sweat sweep down her temple, but her fingers were still tight on her drawstring. That is all that mattered.

When the rambling bones finally revealed itself, Elain blinked rapidly in an effort to make the illusion go away. There was moist, yet withered skin attached to yellowed bones, old clothes hanging off the long dead body. But the head of the monster was not an elf skull. 

In place, maggots dripped out of the desiccated mouth of a deer head, blank eye sockets staring at her, dusty fur and skin still clinging around the broken antlers. Its head rattled, a tremor causing it to shake back and forth rapidly, and the larvae crawling out of mouth trembled and fell to the ground with every snapping movement. The unnatural thing rambled towards her, unsteady on its new legs, but solid enough she could take a shot. 

She let an arrow fly and it hit the creature's chest. The thing looked down on the arrow jutting out of its ribs, more maggots falling out of it's horrendous mouth, but it turned it's head back towards her and continued to move. Under where her arrow hit, Elain could see a vibration and swelling around the shaft sticking out of the chest, and then with the force of an eruption, even more of those loathsome wriggling worms burst forth from within. 

Her bow aim again, she shot another arrow, then another. Each time it hit, more swelling, more eruptions, more maggots falling and crunching under the monster's feet. She knew this was an illusion, a game of her mind. She just wanted it dead. Another arrow, this time aimed for the approaching abomination's head. A deep breath, release, and she watched the monstrosity fall back with force. 

The head came off the shambling body and fell back into a dusty pile. It no longer moved, not even the subtle frenzy of the feasting worms. She edged closer now to the thing, and saw nothing but dried bones and torn cloth.  _Inky blackness falling from red teeth, sinking into the ground._

The vision flashed brightly and was gone in an instant, but left it's scar in her mind. The old bones disintegrated before her eyes, and their stale marrow began to melt and bubble with that same inky blackness the woman had in the nightmare. It was hot and sticky like tar, and melted through the rock. She did not flinch. Instead, she watched it fizzle and burn and saw curls of dark smoke and bright embers float with the blowing snow. She etched into her mind the smell of molten stone and burning bone. Then, she fastened her cloak tightly around her shoulders and moved on. 

This place was not for her, either. 

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ma emma harel - You should fear me (according to Elven Language wiki)
> 
> Wow, that was super fun! I absolutely loved writing this chapter. Something about it just really felt cathartic to get out. Don't know what that says about me. 
> 
> So who can guess who this mysterious lady is? Should be easy to figure out ;)


	3. Gold

_The more she frequented the Black Forest, the more Elain saw. The more it changed. The first few weeks were dark and silent. Then, the Woman came. The Woman's golden spear and blood armor and teeth frightened her, but Elain learned to stay away from the warm stream to avoid attracting Her attention. The pain of stepping on the ground was still there, the sharpened black glass forest cutting into her feet. Over time, she started to grow used to the pain and was able to move more. Agony awoken in each step, but she focused her mind, and she was rewarded with new sights and unexpected pleasures._

_The blood trails her feet left now bloomed into exquisite golden flowers, black nectar dripping from their swollen petals. They burned brightly, like the Woman's spear, and felt like quickening desire; teeth on a bare neck, fingers gripping soft skin, hot breath pressing whispers in ears. The flowers couldn't sustain themselves for long, and fluttered away in a cloud of black ash after only a few moments. One foot stepped down and felt the excruciating pain of being shred by the forest floor, while the other lifted and felt the ecstasy of the golden blooms filling her bloodied arches._

_The pain of walking was worth feeling the splendid light spread up her legs. She would pause in her strides to let the blood sink under her for a while, exploding in intense golden warmth that would pulse and caress as the opulent blooms climbed up her ankles. The blood would stop pouring though, and the warmth would cool, never reaching the inner recesses of her body that wanted to feel the sensation so desperately._

_In those moments of aching desire, she saw him. He was always too far away to reach, but she still tried. She climbed over rugged tree roots and cut herself on tall grass, dripping blood and flowers as she ran, seeking his own golden warmth to add to hers. No matter what distance she traveled however, she never seemed to get any closer to him. Her body was so tired, her mind so fatigued, she had to stop and lay down on the ground._

_The floor of the Black Forest didn't inflict its usual pain though. The sharpness was replaced by a sticky, soft, oily sensation. It was like sinking into the softest, smoothest mud, falling through the earth and into the core, and she didn't care anymore. If the forest consumed her and spit out her bones, she wouldn't care. Her heart ached and her body was in pain and she missed him terribly. And when it seemed that she had given up her very spirit to this dark place, he came to her instead._

_He sunk into the forest floor with her, his body pressing against hers, his hands opening her thighs._

“ _What do you want?” he asked her._

“ _I want you inside of me,” she responded, her voice dripping wet, everything dripping wet. She ignored the blackness eating away around them. She ignored his inexplicable presence. She ignored the ominous feeling scratching at her head. It didn't matter._

_Nothing mattered but his face hovering above hers and his weight between her legs. He was moving slowly, filling her, golden and warm, and his lips touched hers hungrily, pulling and tugging in need. Her hands pressed on his lower back and she let him savor her every gasp, her every sigh and he asked for nothing in return but her whispered prayers to him and only him. She gladly moaned her reverence._

_His mouth was gold, his hair gold, his skin gold, and as he pressed into her again and again, she saw the gold spread from her own core up her stomach, into her breasts, and throughout the rest of her. The gold flowed like a river, lighting up her veins and tendons, and everything was bright luminescence juxtaposed against the sticky dark forest floor. She spoke in pleading moans, barely able to form words, but he always knew what she wanted. He took an achingly hard nipple between his teeth and bit her firmly enough to draw blood, then watched in awe as the most vibrant of the golden flowers bloomed before his eyes._

_The petals of the flower soon withered and turned to black ashes and floated away, searing her with pain. But the sensation of the pain was exquisite now, and she begged him to give her more. He dragged his fingernails down her body, tiny rivulets of shining blood rising from the deep scratches, and as her body bloomed once more, he drove himself deeper into her._

_She reached for slippery ground to plunge her hands into as her body trembled with the growing heat spreading through it. But she was cut and bled on jagged, needle-sharp glass fragments. No longer was the forest floor soft and silk; it now impaled her with its dangerous edges. The blood gushed from her body now, stinging and spreading over the illumination of her pleasure._

_Suddenly, everything was scalding hot pain, everything melting from the inside out, and as he pushed into her harder, she screamed. She frantically tried to move away from him, but her body was paralyzed, locked inside this excruciating cocoon and when she looked at his eyes, they were black glass. His skin started the bubble and swell like the shambling corpse's desiccated skin had and she couldn't stop herself from sobbing hysterically._

“ _What's wrong, Peach?” he mocked her as the maggots burst through his skin and he melted into a writhing mass of mindless consumption onto her quaking body. She tried to move again, to run away, but couldn't, and the worms feasted on her vulnerable flesh. Golden light and blossoms sprang up, but did not disintegrate. They grew and grew and grew, until she was nothing but gold and pain. The ground shook around her as she desperately tried to free herself, and when she looked up, The Woman was there._

_She stood high above her, tall and splendid, her smile full and bright and red. The ornaments she had seen on Her armor were clear now. Bleached, splintered bones stuck out of her pauldrons and gauntlets; bones she recognized. Bones of elves. Elain screamed and screamed, but no noise came out of her mouth, only light. The light of the Woman's spear, now at her throat as She cackled at Elain's dying breaths. She needed only apply the slightest bit of force, and the Woman pierced her vulnerable neck._

_The last thing Elain saw was her own blood on the graceful hares that decorated Andruil's spear tip._

 

–

 

When she woke up, her body was still paralyzed. Black oil dripped from the fabric of her tent, falling on her face and in her hair, the strong smell of rotting vegetation springing from it. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, willing the vision to disappear and for her body to move. After a few moments of panicked breaths and salty tears rolling down the sides of her clenched-shut eyes, the smell receded and the sound of dripping substance disappeared. Elain attempted to move her leg and found she had regained control.

She sat up and hugged her cloak tightly to her chest. It was the worst one yet. Her whole body shook, cold sweat poured down her face, and she knew that she was falling victim to the mountain madness. The prolonged isolation was taking its toll, and she was falling apart. She stroked her arms roughly in an attempt to make her body listen to her commands, but her shaking would not stop, and the sweat left her chilled to the bone.

She didn't know for sure that the woman she saw in her dreams was Andruil; it seemed ludicrous. Elain certainly believed in her gods, but to think one was speaking to her directly was the height of hubris. She convinced herself that her mind was tricking her. It was the most rational answer. Isolation, malnourishment, exposure to the elements...all coming together to break her will. And the nightmares and hallucinations were just side effects. She told herself these things to keep herself sane. 

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and prepared herself mentally to leave her tiny shelter. The bitter cold was not something she was looking forward to, and the thought of traveling again through these desolate passages filled her with dread. Part of her wanted to give in. The same part of her knew that she would not last. That she would die here. If that was her fate, why wait for it in the cold, when she could just sit here?

_Yes Peach. Come back to bed. I'll keep you warm._ His voice clawed at the inside of her skull, sharp teeth biting through bone to get out. Her own teeth chattered in her mouth, and then, she felt something next to her move. She turned her head slowly, fearfully, never prepared for what she would see. And she saw him. His naked body was laid out, the writhing maggots all over his stomach and chest, and his glassy black eyes staring back at her.

She shrieked and fell over herself trying to leave the shelter now. Gasping sobs escaped her mouth, and she tore through the tent to get out into the cold daylight. She tripped over the taut ropes keeping the tent aloft, and crawled on her hands and knees away from the illusion. The snow and ice on the ground slipped her up; she fell on her stomach, and she cried hot tears as she violently shook in a pile on the hard ground. “No no no,” she said to herself over and over again, a mantra sobbed out of fear. There was nothing left in her but the fear.

After a few moments, her hysteria abated, and she turned back to see if the phantom was still here. To her dismay, she saw her tent melting into a bubbling, churning pile of black ichor. Just like the initiate's corpse a few weeks ago. S _ome demon then, not an illusion_ , she thought as she began to panic. She scrambled to try to save the only thing she had to protect her against the cold, but it was too late. It was melted against the rock, and no action could salvage it now.

Her cloaks had been inside the tent as well. It was now sticky black tar. She had nothing but her bow, a few arrows, her pack, and the leathers she wore. There was nothing else. She would freeze before she made it out of the passes. Her fate was sealed. Despair washed over her, and she knew she would never wear the Mantle now. Never be honored as Maiden. Never be with her clan again.

Never see Revas again.

It was strange. When she thought of her failure and her disgrace to her clan, she felt only defeat and despair. When she thought of never seeing Revas again, she only grew angry. If she failed here, he would never let her live it down. It would be another thing he was better than her at. Better with a bow, better with a knife, faster, stronger, able to survive. And this was what she had trained all her life for. It's what she was meant to be. If she died here, she'd never get to rub it in his cocky face that she was able to accomplish something great that he couldn't touch. She wouldn't allow it. She stood up and grabbed her pack. She might as well start moving. Perhaps she could find a cave or….

Something caught her attention. There were tracks on the ground. Animal tracks. Fresh. Very fresh. She knelt to inspect the dept of the print, the size, the weight. Most likely a hart. But what was a hart doing this far up in the mountains? There was only one, going by the tracks. Large. Possibly a buck. Passed by her camp no more than a half hour before. A hart meant food. Lots of food. She could put together a fire, could smoke the meat, preserve it. It also meant fur and hide to keep her safe. She could use the hide for warmth while she traveled and as a lean-to shelter when she rested.

She pulled her bow from her shoulder and readied her quiver. There were very few arrows left. But she had to try.

\--

She followed the tracks all day, the wind blowing on her ears and making them raw. They had led her deeper into the cavernous passages in the mountains, and she knew killing this beast would be a matter of life and death. No matter how close she seemed to get however, the beast always evaded her. She'd seen large antlers in the blinding snow in the distance, only to watch them disappear. The weather, the terrain, and the cunning of the animal tested all her training.

And still she pressed on. Her doubts and fears that have been plaguing her for what seemed like years now disappeared entirely. She knew her body was weak and exhausted, but all the pain was gone as well. Even the bitter cold that turned her fingers and lips blue were distant distractions from what mattered. Nothing remained but the Hunt. The hart was hers to chase, hers to kill, and she alone would reap the rewards of its slaughter. She could already see the blood pouring out of its neck, hot and metallic, a river of life for her to take deep gulps from. The scarlet-stained bones filled her mind, and the smell of the steaming guts against the cold snow invaded her nostrils.

_Sweating bodies covered in dark, viscous fluid, writhing_ _on_ _the snow-covered ground, crying in agony and ecstasy as clouds of steam arose from the tangled mass_ _of limbs_ _. The Woman stood in the center, Her grin wide, as she poured the_ _scalding_ _liquid from a_ _golden_ _cup onto the revelers._

The visions no longer deterred her, no longer distracted her. It made the scent of blood more intense, made her hear her own heartbeat in her ears. The single-mindedness of her goal consumed her. Her body was no longer her own; it was merely a tool for the desires of the Wilderness, and the Wilderness demanded death. She was now Death.

And Death was coming for her prey on swift wings. She spotted the hart at last, the largest she had even seen, covered in splendid white fur, unblemished and clean. It stopped and stared at her with dark red eyes, daring her to take it's life. She fit her arrow into her bow and set her aim. The hart held alarmingly still, waiting for her, and her fingers trembled as she let her arrow fly.

_The white peaks of the mountains transformed into the towering Black Forest, the white hart a bright beacon in the center. The Woman stood next to the beast, her grin wide and red as always. But for once, Elain was not afraid. The forest was real this time, not a maze of broken glass and pain, and the golden blossoms bloomed to the full, never withering away. She watched her arrow glide slowly towards its target, as if it was submersed in tree sap._

“ _Do you understand now?” the Woman spoke. Her voice sounded like a chorus of a thousand people, all speaking in unison. It was deep and rich, and thundered across the forest like a storm._

“ _Yes,” Elain responded._

“ _What are you?” She asked, the black trees starting to shimmer with gold dust behind her._

“ _I am the Maiden.”_

“ _And what does a Maiden do?” Her questions were leading Elain towards some enlightenment, some higher understanding. The Woman was testing her_ .

“ _A Maiden hunts and is hunted. A Maiden survives and destroys.”_

“ _And what is a Maiden meant for?” The glimmering gold dust spread across the entire Black Forest, flickering and reflecting the beautiful light pulsing from Andruil's spear._

“ _For...” Elain paused, but only for a breath. It was difficult to fathom what it had all meant, but she understood now. She understood._

“ _...for Sacrifice. A Maiden is merely a vessel for the will of her Goddess.”_

_Andruil did not speak again. Instead, Elain's arrow began to gain speed in it's trajectory towards the hart. The black forest began to melt, dripping down and evaporating like water. Before long, all that remained was the gold dust and the Goddess herself. Her mouth opened into a wide, robust grin, black smoke and fire escaping the gaps in her dragon's teeth. She hefted her spear with her hand, never taking Her eyes off of Elain, before she threw it with such force that Elain was sure the world itself would break. The luminous weapon sank into her chest, hot blood flowing outwards, red mingling with the gold of the air, and it felt as if she were filled with the light of a thousand suns. The glowing light grew to illuminate the entire forest, searing away any black remnants, leaving only the blinding whiteness of the empty mountains and her prey. The slow arrow finally struck it's target, and the hart was now gushing blood as she was._

_Tears of crimson fell down Elain's cheeks, and she understood._

– 

It was several weeks later when she looked over the plains of the Free Marches outside of Markham from the edge of the Vimmarks. The sun shone brightly on the new stalks of grass and buds of leaves springing forth on the shrubs and trees. The long winter had ended, and life was returning to the world. Elain squinted her eyes as she looked into the distance, pulling the hart hide tighter to her body. She saw the tall, red sails of the aravels, blowing in the wind. The area was littered with brightly decorated yurts and tents, a sign that the clan had made camp. She could even smell the smoke on the wind from their large fires, carrying the distinct scent of roasted game. It had been so long since she experienced being in camp like that, she wasn't sure if she should return. Would she ever be able to live like that again? Did she ever live like that before? What was her life with the warmth of a fire and the security of a camp and the love of her family? Was it even hers? The feeling was fleeting. All dis-attachment from her isolation. It would all come back in time.

She took a deep breath, her final one of the clean mountain air, and made her way down the rock face and back to her life.


	4. Council

It had been two days since Elain came down from the mountains. Two days since she shambled into the camp on weak legs but with her shoulders squared and her head high. Two days since the artisans saw her make her way to the aravels and ran to her brother and Keeper to tell them of her return. Two days since Paeris' eyes widened in concern, since Sohta cried when she saw her, since Keeper Deshanna washed her feet with the fresh blood of a hare to consecrate her steps in the camp, since her father looked at her with joy and pride in his eyes – the most emotion she'd ever seen him show. Two days since she left her dream and returned to waking life. 

She wasn't convinced that the dream ended. 

Everything was strange and foreign to her. The voices were too loud, her clothes too clean and sitting still in camp made her skin crawl. She wanted to hunt, but the bulk of the hunters were raiding a bandit clan in the valley, and she was not allowed to hunt alone. So she was left with mundane tasks and even more mundane necessities. Even simple things such as eating were alien. She found herself consuming only the barest minimum, afraid she would run out of stores. In one instance, she hid preserved meat into her pouch on her belt, just in case. In case of what, she wasn’t sure. 

Sleeping was the most difficult by far though. Her own pavilion had not been set up when the clan made camp, so she was staying with Paeris in his yurt. His cot was too soft and smelled of magic; that stinging ozone that burned her nostrils and watered her eyes. His breathing was disruptive, buzzing in her ears like a fly. The space was warm and she didn’t know how to let herself be warm anymore. She tossed and turned late into the second night until at last she gave up and moved outside and away from the camp. The night was still cold, a vestigial arm of winter reaching across the plains, and she shivered under the ragged hide of the white hart. That’s where she slept, fleetingly, for a few hours. When she awoke, the dawn was cresting over the horizon, and the sky was painted in pink and gold. She watched it in quiet wonder. It was the closest she had felt to normal since she had returned. 

It was on the third day that Old Bida finally came to her. She had expected the old Maiden to be the first one to welcome her back, but she hadn’t seen her since she arrived. Elain worried that her health may be failing, but when she walked into Paeris’ yurt with critical eyes and her lips pursed, she knew her worries were baseless. Old Bida was unchanged, just as everything else was unchanged. 

Except for Elain herself. 

“You look better now,” Old Bida commented as she sat on a cushioned bench in the yurt, “Your skin is less sallow, and your eyes look clearer. Sohta must be feeding you well.”

“She tries. My appetite is still scarce,” Elain said as she settled herself on the ground before the bench. She brought her knees to her chest and let out a deep sigh. “She caught me pushing food onto my lap; thought I was trying to make it seem like I was eating more than I was.”

“You were hiding it, saving it for the future,” Bida responded, her voice slightly sympathetic. “That will go away shortly. So will your appetite loss. Learning how to live with what you experienced…that is more difficult.”

Elain nodded in agreement and the pair sat in the warm pavilion in comfortable silence. No one else in the clan knew what she had went through like Old Bida, and there was something reassuring in that. 

Finally, Old Bida spoke. “What did you see?”

She shuddered when she thought of her nightmares, her hallucinations, the maggots writhing. “I saw a black forest. I saw death and decay at every turn. I saw a woman with a golden spear and armor polished red with splintered bones jutting out.”

Bida lowered her head and looked at the ground. “And what did you learn?”

“Many things. I learned that hunting is more than I ever thought it could be. I learned that Andruil demands more from the Maiden than to just follow the Vir'Tanandahl. She demands death. She demands desire. She demands revelry in destroying what She has created,” her voice was low and impassive, “Above all, She demands sacrifice.”

“That She does,” Old Bida affirmed, her shaking hands balled in fists at her knees. “It is not a title to be taken lightly. Perhaps if I had known that, I would not have asked for it.”

Elain looked at her and saw for the first time a lifetime of regret written on her face. It scared her, for Bida had been nothing but a master of herself for as long as Elain had been alive. Perhaps finally being able to share that harrowing Trial with another person was enough to break her cold shell. Bida recognized the look Elain gave her.

“Do not pity me, girl. My regrets are my own and not for you to judge,” she reprimanded her. The emotion was gone, and Bida had her mask of authority back on. Elain wondered if she would ever be able to achieve the same seamless transition. 

“I don't pity you, hahren. Why would I? Your life is the one I've worked all my short years to obtain. It's strange that it's so close now,” her voice trailed off as she thought of herself wearing the Mantle. All these long years, all those months of breaking herself down and building herself back up...all of the pieces were in place. She needed only be dedicated on the shrine to Andruil on Her Holy Day. 

“Close, yes. But you must start your role as spiritual guide immediately. It's your hand that will guide our hunters towards Andruil's path,” Bida brought her attention back to the present,” The raiding in the valley was a success. Half the hunters returned this morning, the rest will be here by nightfall. The leaders will hold Council tonight, and you must be present. I recommend making a move to show your cunning and resourcefulness. It will impress the hunters and the artisans alike. Doubly so if you use it as a platform to decide how your Shadow will be chosen.”

Elain was surprised at the sudden turn in Bida's counsel. She'd always been pragmatic and straightforward, but never political in her advice. It was unusual, but Old Bida had been on the Council for decades. She was likely a fountain of knowledge that could be utilized, if persuaded.

“I know how to play to the hunters. It's early spring so they'll want something fresh and challenging, especially after coming off a successful raid. Anything to get out of the scavenging of the long winter months,” she shared her thoughts with the older elf, trusting her completely, “the artisans are harder. My father may have some ideas...”

“I will be blunt with you, girl,” Bida interrupted,” Your father cannot be trusted to help you make decisions. He is not a hunter nor is he a devotee of Andruil. Most damning is the fact that you are his daughter. Your interests will always be his first priority.”

She shook her head, “Father is a well-respected and wise man. His advice has been asked for and heeded on more occasions than I can count.”

“Your father is a ruthless man who will do anything to prop up his daughter,” she spoke quietly, her fingers twitching,” Don't ever forget that. You kissing Revas on the cheek before your Trial was proof that he will not be reasonable when it comes to you.”

She snapped her body around to face the old woman completely. “What happened? Did father do something to Revas?” she realized her voice betrayed her concern before she could stop herself. Old Bida cocked an eyebrow.

“No, though it’s not for a lack of trying,” Paeris’ voice interrupted their conversation as he entered the pavilion. Both women turned to face the mage, and he secured the entrance to his yurt behind him. “You both need to watch what you’re saying. Vhannas may be in a weakened position, but an overheard secret could put him back in control.”

Elain’s malaise and disinterest suddenly evaporated. Much had happened since she left. Much more than she thought. Was she being premature in her assessment on the lack of change here? Had she been living every day just to survive for so long, she forgot that the world continued outside of her? “Tell me everything.”

Paeris sat down on his cot across from Bida and sighed loudly. “Everything is a long story. What you need to know is that father tried to move against Revas in Council shortly after you left by striking a deal with the War Lord of Clan Silure.”

“A thoughtless and premature gamble,” Bida cut in.

“Indeed. Revas was given a heads up and rallied the hunters before the Council session. When Council met, there was mutiny, and the Council itself was split on the decision to move Rev to Clan Silure. Bida cast the deciding vote and Revas was asked to stay here. War Lord Miran from the Silures nearly came to blows with father afterward.” Paeris explained.

“Father was embarrassed but he's no fool. He knows which way the tide will turn if he keeps pressing for Revas' removal. So he's throwing his support behind Llyn instead,” he continued, “Llyn is the only rival Revas has when it comes to skill, and supporting him is easy enough to drop if his plan doesn't go right. All he is attempting to do at this point is take away any power Rev might gain.”

“So what's the issue?” Elain asked as she yawned, her lack of sleep catching up with her, “Let father back a contender and lick his wounds. There was no harm done that cannot be undone.”

Paeris and Bida traded looks with each other, a knowing glance that spoke of a hesitancy to talk about the actual issue at hand.

“The problem isn't your father, dear. It's the boy,” Old Bida said, her hands clutching at the fabric of her skirts, “He's gained popularity among the hunters and War Lord Den encourages his raids on the humans. Hunters are even talking of asking Den to promote Revas to his Second.”

“And everyone knows how too many raids draws excessive attention on the clan. Revas is too reckless and Den is too indulgent with him for it to be a good idea,” Paeris cut in, “We have been trying to push him to compete as Banal'ras instead. At least by being under your command, he can be controlled.”

Elain threw her head back and laughed. It wasn't a soft giggle or a pleased chuckle, but rather, a deep, loud laugh of someone who hasn't laughed in a long time. 

“What makes you believe I would want him as my Shadow?” she asked after she caught her breath, standing now and stretching, “And even if he did become Banal'ras, what makes you think I can control him? Revas' pride lies in his freedom. He won't be tamed just because he makes an oath.”

“We don't need the boy tamed. We just need him thinking clearly. If you guide him in a more stable direction, the rest of the hunters will follow,” Old Bida said, her irritation barely concealed. 

“I would do better to get the hunters under my thumb without him,” Elain said impassively, “I am the Maiden after all. My will should be their will. Is my pavilion ready yet?”

Paeris rose his head and nodded. “It's all set up, so you can move out of my place now and I can sleep on my cot again,” he looked at her as she stood over him, “Are you going to attend the Council?”

She started to make her way out of his own pavilion, flicking her hand in his direction. “Yes, yes, I'll be there tonight. Has Revas' war band returned from raiding yet?”

“No, their runner said they were...'investigating' something,” Paeris explained, “They should be back by nightfall.”

“And are they aware of my return?”

“Not that I know of. Should I send word?” he asked.

“No,” she stopped as she reached the doorway, “Surprise may be the only weapon I have in my arsenal tonight. I'd rather not give it up. Try not to mess that up too Paeris...”

He gave a chuckle as she walked out into the campground, the air growing chilled as the sun began to set over the mountains. She heard Paeris and Bida speaking in hushed tones behind her as she put some distance between them, but she couldn't be bothered to care about what they said.

As she made her way towards her pavilion, she found the corners of her mouth curving upwards. No matter what happens on the Council tonight, she would make herself known as a force to be reckoned with. Paeris and Old Bida had tried to pull her into their machinations, but underestimated Elain's own ability to scheme. Before, she may have been malleable to their ideas. But the mountains had reformed and refined her. She no longer needed to be propped up, and she was determined to prove that. 

Old Bida, her brother, her father...even Revas...had bitten off more than they could chew. She was Maiden, and she would make her word law. 

 

–----

 

The scent of roasting boar meat and warm fara bread filled the cool night air. The bonfires had been lit and the Council yurt erected. It was a night of celebration as much as it was a night to determine the future of Elain's role in the clan. Music played loudly, elves sang louder, and the percussive drums and sistrum rung in her ears. She sat under an open air canopy, indulging in some peaches her father had acquired for her in haste since her return. The fruit had started to awaken her dormant appetite, and she was on her third one of the evening. The sweet juice dripped down her fingers and wrists, and she licked it up slowly as she watched the commotion of the successful hunters bragging over their kills in the valley as they drank their confiscated mead in front of the fires. 

She had opted to dress simply that evening: a linen dress belted at the waist, a woven wool shawl to ward off the spring chill, and her hair worn loose and free. Appearances were just as important as words when swaying the clan, and tonight she wanted to look like the fresh Maiden that she was. She made small talk with some prominent hunters who had returned from raiding to find out the overall mood. They told her far more than Old Bida and Paeris had about the state of the hunters, and how much sway Revas had over them. It surprised her that he had become such a strong leader in her absence. She wondered if being away from him had helped him grow. 

It was not a thought she enjoyed dwelling on. The fact that nothing would be the same between them now that she was Maiden hurt enough; she didn't like knowing that he was actually better off without her at all. It was selfish, and she knew it, but she was too proud to admit it. 

She threw the picked-clean peach pit into the blazing fire and watched it sizzle. The Council was starting to gather now, moving to the largest yurt in the campsite where they would preside over matters relating to the welfare of the clan. She would be expected to sit in on these meetings, until she was as old as Old Bida...or dead. It wasn't the most thrilling responsibility the Maiden had, but it was important. She went to stand to join them when she heard a commotion.

The final war band had returned from raiding in the valley. They thundered through the camp, voices loud and laughing, drunken and boisterous. She watched them with interest as she saw the group dragging three humans in chains behind them, naked but for their undergarments. Prisoners, she thought to herself, but for what? 

It was then, for the first time in six months, she saw him. His hair was longer, his gait lighter, and there was a scabbed over cut on his face from a recent skirmish. Other than that, he looked the same as the day she had left. She wondered what he would see when he recognized her. Probably a sickly looking woman with dull hair and eyes, or some wild spirit back from the dead. It bothered her that she cared. He led the group, the bow she made him those few years ago slung proudly over his shoulder, and they hung onto every word out of his mouth.

“Look at all this! A celebration for the raid?” she recognized Twig's voice questioning the gathering. 

“A celebration for us killing _a lot of fucking shemlen!_ ” Revas called back, sending the group into rowdy shouts. 

They yanked on the chains of the prisoners hard, making them stumble, as they strode through camp with their spoils of war. She followed the group, watching, listening, and attempting to gain any information she could. The war band headed towards where the Council was gathering, a caravan of power and arrogance that swelled with newly found purpose. It wouldn't be enough to give them what they were familiar with. New blood in the ranks always turned focus away from the old pursuits, and it would be her job to make sure they continued to work to preserve their way of life. 

As they drew closer to the Council meeting, Revas directed the band to divvy out the spoils of their raid to the quartermaster, while he approached Keeper Deshanna. A few hunters stayed with him, Twig and Sorn among them, and they dragged their prisoners in the yurt with them. She went inside after them, pulling her woolen shawl over her head. The Council had not started, and she wasn't ready to reveal herself as of yet. Not without a plan. 

The Council pavilion was decorated elaborately, yards of tapestries hanging from the ceilings and hand-woven rugs covering the floor. It was warm and inviting, and meant to be a peaceful place where matters of all kinds could be settled. It smelled of the sacred incense of Sylaise that burned in the few braziers scattered in the large area, sharp and bitter. People had already started gathering in the pavilion, reclining idly on the brightly colored rugs while they waited for the meeting to commence. Deshanna and other clan leaders sat at the head, a slightly raised dais platform. She saw her father and brother already in discussion, as well as Old Bida, War Lord Den, Lore Master Kellen, and Hearth Matron Aricia. There were also clan elders and lead hunters who returned earlier from the valley raids. 

All of their eyes turned on the approaching war band. Gasps and shocked whispers broke out in the room when the attendees realized Revas and his war band had brought humans into the sanctuary. 

“Keeper!” Revas yelled happily as he approached the dais, “I've brought the clan a gift: presenting the three most notorious slavers in the Free Marches! They were trying to escape the raids disguised as merchants, but how many merchants do you know that carry a branding iron?”

The shocked whispers turned to excited chatter, and Keeper Deshanna tapped her fingers on the floor at her side impatiently. 

“You brought slavers into consecrated grounds! This is unforgiveable!” one of the senior artisans jumped up from the crowd and yelled accusations. 

“They aren't outsiders, they're our prisoners. Property of Clan Lavellan, no more than cattle,” Revas responded, spitting on the three men panting on the ground as the crowd's voices grew louder. 

“You're treading dangerous ground, Shem'assan,” Paeris spoke out, his voice rising above the crowd,” These raids have already drawn attention from the Marcher cities. Holding humans here is drawing a target on our back.”

“Then don't hold them. Let me and my hunters take care of them. We are children of Andruil and know how to hand out Her justice,” Revas argued back, his boldness somewhat alarming.

Elain pulled back her shawl and started to move towards the confrontation. This was a chance, an opportunity, and it was hers to take.

“Perhaps we should change your nickname to Solasan, Revas. You seem to wallow in your arrogance,” she let the words drip from her tongue as she slowly made her way up the dais. She walked past him, never glancing at him or his war band, and only turned to look at them once she took her place among the Council. Appearances were always as important as the words.

“You claim to know the will of the Mother of Hares while Her own Maiden stands in our midst. Supreme arrogance,” she smiled at him with venom, a warning, and the look on his face gave her more sadistic joy than she could have anticipated. His jaw was tight, lips pressed together tightly, his fists clenched at his side. His cheeks flared red, a sign of embarrassment or anger, she could not tell which. Perhaps both. But his eyes look relieved, as if a weight had been lifted off him. Good, she thought. I can use that.

The other hunters bent their shoulders low, their palms in the air in supplication. Revas raised his palms too, but was too full of pride to let her challenge go unrecognized.

“Of course we defer to the Maiden when it comes to the Great Huntress' wishes. Had I known you returned, _I would have gone to you right away_ ,” he grinned at her as he emphasized his course of action. The hidden meaning behind the words was not lost on her. 

“Had you taken a moment before stumbling in Council to show off your accomplishments, you might have known,” she let her admonishment be light; she didn't want to humiliate him. Her first act as Maiden could not be tearing down a hunter that the others rallied behind. 

“It is a small price to pay for your success, though,” she continued, the rest of the Council watching her intently. This moment would make her future. “And what a success! These are the slavers who have been haunting the Dalish in the Marches the past few seasons?”

“Yes,” he replied affirmatively, “We confirmed their identities with two scouts who saw them in person and letters they carried on their caravan.”

“Excellent. You’ve outdone yourself, Shem’assan,” she eyed the three men. They were older, close to middle age, obviously not front line fighters, but still in good condition. “I should thank you. I have been praying day and night since I returned from the mountains, asking our Great Huntress for wisdom on how to choose my Shadow. You have dropped my answer right on my lap.”

The quiet whispers began again as she strode across the dais and spoke her idea in Keeper Deshanna's ear while the war band stared on in confusion. The Keeper nodded her approval solemnly, and reclined back on her cushions as she watched Elain command the room. She was finally feeling back in her element. The planning, the plotting, the careful considerations...this is what it was to be a hunter. Tracking your prey, and finding the most efficient way to kill it. The pieces were falling into place perfectly and her authority would be cemented tonight. 

“A Shadow must be chosen before my dedication in Andruil's shrine, but the choice cannot be made lightly. A Shadow must prove their worth as much as I myself did. So with Keeper Deshanna's blessing and as Maiden apparent, I invoke the Dire Hunt! These shemlen will serve as the sacrifical prey, and they will be offered up to Andruil as an invocation of Her blessing on our new Banal'ras!” she shouted, making sure the entire room heard every word. 

The roars and cheers of the crowd were deafening. They were beyond excited. The Dire Hunt was a rare occasion, and the clan always enjoyed a good reason to celebrate. She did not smile, but felt the surge of success fill her, and it was intoxicating. In one move, she took Revas' victory against the slavers away from him and made it her own, all while getting the clan on her side. No, she did not smile, but her eyes were bright and her face still beamed her self-congratulations. 

Once the crowd began to calm, she looked to Revas and his war band. “Andruil'enaste, you have proven to be fine hunters today. Take your prisoners and have them put on guard. We will celebrate your victories for the remainder of the night and after...the Dire Hunt!” 

She took one last glance and saw bitterness in Revas' eyes as she artfully dismissed the war band. There was no time to worry about his opinion anymore. She turned and took her place next to Paeris as the Council began their session.


	5. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual Content in this chapper chap

Her first night in an active role as Maiden was a resounding success. The Council was unanimously pleased with her decision to invoke the Dire Hunt, and even her father commended her ability to bring the hunters under her wing. She merely smiled and nodded at the compliments, slightly annoyed that no one expected her to be successful. Between Bida and Paeris' meddling and her father's patronizing, she felt as if they thought she was a fragile bird that needed to be shown how to fly. 

This first Council was only the beginning. Tonight was merely a test of her ability to think on her feet. Things could have gone wrong in a thousand ways, but she never worried, never faltered, never hesitated. Years of training, months of isolation, and weeks of contemplation all culminated in her victory. This clan was hers for the taking. 

When she returned to her own yurt, it was late. The campfires had died down and the revelry was a quiet rumble across the plains. She stoked her brazier to warm her little pavilion, and took a moment to let everything sink in. The hides and pelts she had earned covered her floor and cot, and the beautiful silk tapestries her father had made for her still hung from her walls. The various chests and small tables that filled the space smelled of cedar, and for the first time since she returned, she felt a sting of her former self returning. Hopefully this would translate to her getting a full night of sleep.

As she went to lie onto her cot though, she found an unfamiliar box when she pulled back her furs. It was older, the hinges damaged, and the wood was weathered. It wasn't her work, or her father's and his apprentices. It must have come from some other clan. She stood up and set the box on her nearby table, leaning over to get a better look at what was inside. She carefully lifted the lid, trying not to break the unsteady hinges. Inside, there was a strange assortment of items: a broken boar tusk, a piece of an antler, various bits of bones from different animals, feathers of all kinds, interesting looking stones, and a single blush-colored pearl. Her fingers brushed lightly over each item.

“You were gone a long time,” she heard his voice as he entered the pavilion,” I was afraid I'd never see you again. So I started collecting things. Things that might make nice beads.”

He walked up behind her as she touched each item. His chest pressed against her back, and she felt his breath on her neck. “I thought maybe, if I saved all this stuff for you, you would have to come back then.”

His fingertips ran up her arm, gentle and soft, grazing her skin as she turned over a piece of bone in her hand. Goosebumps formed on her flesh, and she felt a fluttering in her chest as her body remembered his touch. 

“It was stupid, but it helped. You didn't seem so far away when I could look at something and say 'Elain would be so beautiful with that in her hair',” his hand came to her shoulder now, fingers gliding over the thin fabric of the sleeve on her dress as he slid it down her arm. She kept her focus on the bits and baubles he had collected for her, running the pads of her thumb over a smooth stone.

He let his hand fall and brought both arms around her waist, pulling her against him. Her breath caught her in throat as she felt his warmth radiating into her, and she struggled not to make a sound as his nose nuzzled her hair. “When I saw you tonight...even when you took my success and smashed it under your foot without missing a beat…I knew that none of these things could make you any more beautiful than you already are. I wanted to give them to you anyways...so you knew I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You’re being overly sentimental,” her voice was barely above a whisper. She set down the stone back into the box and closed the lid quietly.

“I can’t help it. I missed you, Peach,” he said before trailing his mouth down her neck. He pulled her hair back and kissed her bare shoulder, the hot tip of his tongue touching cool skin, sending shivers up her spine.

“You should go Revas,” she told him breathlessly. It had been so long, and she had dreamt of him in the mountains so often, but her body was no longer hers to give. She knew this when she left. 

“It’s late and everyone is either asleep or passed out. No one will notice me missing,” his hands slid under the hem of her dress now, finding her bare thighs underneath and making her gasp. She pulled her dress back down and pulled away with him.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she turned to face him, her eyes level and her chin held high,” You know who I am now. My role is more important than anything else.”

The hurt of her words played plainly across his face, and she fought to remain stoic. 

“Elain…” he started, but she held her hand up in the air to stop him.

“Thank you for thinking of me while I was gone,” she pointed towards the entrance of pavilion, “Now go.”

The look of hurt was quickly replaced by anger. His brow creased and his mouth turned downwards, and a tell-tale flush appeared in his cheeks. 

“You know, you come down from those mountains, thinking you’ve been changed, like you’re a new person, a better person,” he said, barely in control of his temper,” but I still see the same spoiled, selfish, egotistical brat that left six months ago.” She was taken back by his observations.

“And what about you?” she demanded, her own temper flaring up,” I come back expecting to see you more mature and thoughtful, maybe carving out a place in the clan for yourself, only to find you’ve turned to an even bigger asshole. An asshole who thinks that giving me presents means I’ll forsake everything I went through to give you what you want.”

“Un-fucking-believable! I told you exactly why I gave you that stuff and you still don’t get it,” his voice rose and he began to pace in front of her. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down. “Only the most self-centered person would think that it meant anything more than a way to tell you how much I missed you.”

“Of course! And that’s why you’re angry with me for not letting you put your hands all over my legs, because I’m so self-centered!” she stated to him through clenched teeth. All her self-control was needed to stop herself from yelling at him. “It couldn’t possibly be Revas being mad for not getting what he wants!”

“Maybe I’m mad because you’ve done nothing but patronize and humiliate me since you’ve come back,” his voice was cracking and his entire face was growing red, “I’m not a toy for you to play with Elain. And if I’m going to be your Shadow…”

“Why would I want a short-tempered, arrogant asshole as my Shadow?” she interrupted him, pushing his shoulder with a flippant hand. 

His face contorted with anger and he began to aggressively undo the straps holding his leather cuirass. The cuirass flew over his head and he threw it on the ground, leaving him standing in a tunic. He undid the laces at the collar of the tunic, and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his chest. She opened her mouth to protest, but he pressed her hand in, and she felt the raised skin of the scar he earned saving her life. 

“This is why you want me as your Shadow,” he growled at her as he gripped her wrist tighter when she tried to pull away,” I would lay down my life for you. That’s the only reason you need.”

He dropped her wrist and turned and picked up the cuirass from the ground. She watched him as he stomped out of her pavilion, violently slamming the wicker hanging on the entrance as he left. Her breathing was ragged and the anger still simmered just underneath her skin. 

She stewed in her anger, allowed it to swallow her up. Revas had pinpointed exactly what would set her off and used it against her. Then, he had the audacity to try to make her feel guilty. She was not to blame for his arrogance, not to blame for her oaths she must take, and not to blame for denying him what he wanted. And the attack in Autini was not her fault and she never wanted him to throw himself under the axe for her sake. 

She realized she was pacing her pavilion, feet grinding on her rugs, as she attempted to placate herself on why none of this was her fault. It was not something that would resolve itself tonight. She doused her brazier and climbed into her cot, trying to escape her thoughts in sleep. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling of her yurt, soft light from the moon peeking through the vent at the peak. Her eyes closed and her breathing finally slowed, the lull of sleep washing over her. 

Yet, sleep never came. Her insides curled and creased and tangled in anxious knots and her body tingled and trembled. A fire had been lit inside of her and she didn't like to leave things unfinished. Whatever they started, it had to end. Throwing the furs off her, she climbed out of her cot and left her pavilion. The night air was cold but clean, and the stars glittered with untouchable light. There was no one awake at this hour, save for some scouts patrolling the perimeter. She walked through the camp unobstructed and undisturbed. The halla in their pens knocked their horns against the wooden posts as she passed by and the soft mud of the camp edges seeped between her toes. 

She found at last what she was looking for. A familiar tent, small but embroidered with trees and halla. A gift from a hearthmistress to his mother and passed onto him. She didn't call his name or ask for entrance; she merely walked inside. The tiny room was dark but warm, the embers from the braziers still burning. Her eyes scanned the room, seeing the pelts on the floor and furs piled on the cot in the center. The furs on the cot rose and shifted slightly, a sign he was there.

Turning around, she tied shut the entrance behind her. He sat up in the cot when he heard the rustling of the thick cloth as she closed the tent off from prying eyes. She turned to face him, sure enough with her work that no one could see inside his lodgings. The glow of the dying embers gave the room an orange hue now, and it made his blonde hair light up in gold. He didn't speak, but stared at her intently. His mood was like hers, restless and knotted, the angry scowl still on his face. Resolution was needed, and she knew would neither one would be able to rest without it. 

She brought her hands to her shoulders, right to left and left to right, and slipped them under the fabric of her linen dress. She pulled the loose sleeves downward, over her shoulders, over her elbows and forearms as she freed her arms. His eyes were still on her, green and warm in the embers' glow, and she drew her fingers to the top of her chest now. She slipped the cloth down her breasts slowly, the fabric getting caught and gently tugging over her dark pink buds, until the cloth reached her stomach and she was able to let it drop off her completely. The dress flowed to the floor, making a graceful pile at her feet. The warm glow of the small space made her now naked body look golden as well, like fresh honey stolen from a hive, and she saw short visions flash in her eyes: dripping black nectar on swollen golden blossoms. It was like her dreams. She stood before him, an offering for him to take, and she waited quietly for him to accept.

He motioned for her to come to him with a gesture of his hand, and she stepped out of the dress on the floor and walked towards him with purpose. Her hips swayed, her thighs and calves flexed, and she let her fingers run down the length of her body, enticing herself by imagining it was his hands on her. She parted her lips in her small fantasy, a wisp of moan escaping as she recalled all the nights of fingers digging into skin and heated whispers they had shared before. It had been so long, so long, and she had denied herself so much...

She climbed into the cot, a thigh on each side of his waist, straddling his naked lap. He enveloped her, arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her tightly against his chest. Her hands tangled themselves in his hair and she pulled his head back, forcing him to look at her face. Both of their breathing was labored, the sensation of skin pressed against skin making it hard to draw air. She leaned her mouth to his, pausing before their lips touched, scared of what she was doing and what it meant. 

Her thoughts melted from her mind when Revas grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a frenzied kiss. It was not gentle, but impassioned. Months of waiting and months of wanting, ignited in a spark of lips engulfing lips, tongues touching tongues. His mouth was hot and wet on hers, and Elain thought of him moving that mouth down her body, tasting every inch of her. She struggled to breath as she devoured him, taking bruising lips between her own teeth as her arms slid down his back. He tasted so good and so warm after all this time. Breathing was secondary. Seeing was secondary. She just wanted to feel, feel something. 

And he made her feel. When she was in the mountains, when she was standing in front of Council, when she was reverently touching his gifts...he made her feel. She would never admit it to him – she couldn't. All she could do is grind against him on his lap as he groaned his approval into her mouth and hope that was enough. She rubbed herself up and down the length of his cock, her hips undulating and forceful, pleasure flooding her body as his hardness pressed against her clit. She wanted it to be enough. 

But these things were never enough. Not for her. Not for him. He wasn't interested in being teased, and stopped her motions by grabbing onto her waist tightly. She whimpered and tried to free her hips, but he tightened his grip, strong hands now digging into her skin. He broke their heated kiss, leaving her cold, and he stared at her intensely. The light in the tent was low, and getting lower by the moment, but she could still see anger on his face, his brow furrowed and his teeth bared. Still glaring at her, he moved her hips downward, burying his cock inside of her. She let out a surprised gasp, digging her nails into his shoulders. 

He moved his hands from her hips to her ass, maintaining control over their pace. His fingers sank into sensitive skin, and he began to move her upwards slowly, only to bring her back down on him again hard. The movement was repeated, faster each time, his pace as he moved her up and down his cock relentless. She grabbed onto the back of his upper arms, bracing herself, and met his thrusts with her hips. There was no gentleness, nothing tender. It was just Revas entering her over and over again, and her head lulled back as she let him have his way. 

Tendrils of arousal flowed from her core, spreading throughout her body, intensified with every beat of her heart. She felt golden and warm, like her dreams, but there was no fear, no dripping blackness. Only the sensation of her body filled and pleasure mounting to a release. Her back arched as she rode him, pressure building at the base of her spine towards her orgasm. Each stroke brought her closer to her end, and she began to moan her encouragement, anything to make him continue. 

But getting Revas to do what she wanted was always harder than she expected. He changed his pace, slowing down until he stopped completely. She tried to continue moving her own hips, but he held onto her so firmly, no amount of effort would get them to budge. He shook is head at her, and flipped her over on her back. 

She let out a yelp of surprise, unable to process what he was doing before he had her arms pinned above her head with his forearm and his other hand cupped tightly over her mouth. He pressed against her, his body covering hers, and rested his lips against her ear. 

“Shhhh,” he whispered, his hot breath flowing on her ear and neck making her shiver,” Do you want to wake the entire camp?”

His cock was pressing against her again, and she ached for it. Her hips rose to meet him, and he chuckled softly before licking the shell of her ear. She bit his hand in retaliation, frustrated with his teasing, wanting nothing but her release. He pulled his hand away, and instead, replaced it with his mouth. It was a greedy, hungry kiss; his tongue seeking hers aggressively, and she slid hers against his with equal desperation. 

With his free hand, he pulled her ass up, and thrust back into her aching wetness. She couldn't suppress her moan, but it was stifled against his mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let her hips grind against him again, and this time, he did not protest. They moved together frantically, each one seeking their own climax, and Elain was relieved when she felt the pressure building in her again.

It was overwhelming how much she needed this, needed him to be here, fucking her, making her feel something again. She wanted so badly to pull his hair, claw at his back, but her arms were still pinned under him, leaving her with only her mouth to express how close she was. There was nothing left in her but the want. Her mouth begged him, her arching back begged him, her breasts pressed against his hard chest begged him...all begged for release. 

And he gave it all to her. Her whole body trembled as she went over the edge, the pleasure of her orgasm flooding her body. Her cries were muffled by his mouth over hers, and she felt her inner walls clenching down on him. The warmth of her climax spread all over her, hot and viscous, making all aches evaporate in sweet release. Revas slowed to a stop to allow to allow her to recover. Her legs spasmed and her chest heaved, but eventually her heartbeat returned and she was able to catch her breath. 

He moved his weight off her arms and released her, and she immediately wrapped them around his neck, bringing him back into a kiss. It was quieter, but still fiery, his own need for release still driving him as he sucked on her swollen lips. Eventually, he pulled away from her face, and propped himself up on his knees. He looked down on her, laid out bare before him, and he ran his hand from her neck all the way down to her wet slit between her thighs. She bit her tongue as he let his thumb run the length of her inner lips, and lifted her hips again to urge him on as he caressed her sensitive little nub. 

The embers inside of her were stoked again, and she reached down and stroked his cock as he worked her over, earning her a low groan from him. He moved her hand away after a moment and grabbed her once again by the waist. He lifted her hips and brought her to him, thrusting back into her with deep, slow strokes. She did her best suppress her moans, chewing on her lip to keep them in her throat. 

The slow pace did not last for long. He hooked her legs behind the knees into the crooks of his arms, and restarted his furious thrusting from earlier. This angle was deep, and stimulated that spot inside her that made her heart race. She pressed her knuckles to her teeth to stop herself from crying out his name, leaving deep indentations in her skin. He brought her closer and closer, just a little more, just a few more strokes…

Another climax swept over her, causing her back to arch up in the air and her fists to clench the furs on his bed as she gasped in breaths. It rolled through her, filling her vision with white light and making her forget that she was ever alone. Revas' own breathing became ragged and his thrusts more shallow as her release gripped onto him. He followed shortly after, shuddering as he came inside of her, teeth clenched and nails cutting into her soft thighs. He moved slowly in her as he came down, panting and whispering her name, as she continued to clench around him. 

Once they were both spent, Revas collapsed into bed next to her, pulling his fur coverings over the both of them. Underneath, he kissed her softly as she ran her fingers in feather-light touches up his back. 

“You make me so angry, Elain,” he said in between kisses as he hands cupped her face,” I don't know why you do this.”

Her own hands held his jaw now, pulling him into a deeper kiss. “I thought this is what you wanted,” she purred in between breaths of air. 

He pressed his lips harder against hers, his thumbs running down her chin to her throat. She moaned into him, opening her mouth to explore him with her tongue. They played with each other for some time, hands caressing, mouths tasting, but no more words said. Their ministrations eventually stopped, and Elain felt Revas breathE evenly, as if he were sleeping. 

She quietly removed herself from his arms and climbed out of his cot. Her feet felt around the floor of the dark tent for her dress, and when she found it, she pulled it back over her head and wiped off any dirt and dust that clung to it. She untied the leather straps closing the entrance to the tent in order to leave, but she heard him moving behind her. Turning, she saw him sitting up, tired eyes watching her. 

“You haven't changed Elain. No matter what you say,” he stated simply before he laid back down and rolled to face the wall opposite of her. 

There was a dull ache in her chest from his words, but she was too exhausted to dwell on it now. She left him, and walked back to her own pavilion just as the soft pink light of dawn began to crest over the horizon.


	6. Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clan prepares for the Dire Hunt

Glover Donovan and his men had been sleeping on the cold, hard ground for a few days now. No blankets, no shelter, no bit of comfort. The knife-ears didn’t even have the decency to give them their clothes back. Lamarr was bruised and beaten unconscious for spitting on the elves every time they walked by, and Rory had refused to eat any food he was offered, afraid it might be poisoned.

These idiots were going to get him killed.

He’d been combing the Free Marches long enough to know that Dalish were hard to catch and harder to escape from. You had to corner them when they were alone, and even then it wasn’t a sure thing. Three elves may not seem like a lot for a company, but it was never just three elves. There was always more hiding in the trees or in the tall grass or somewhere just out of sight. He had a good eye for it, and managed to only get caught one other time.

That one time was enough for him. Outrunning a band of Dalish hunters was something he did as a younger man, and he barely got out with his hide intact. Trying it now would be suicide. He knew he shouldn’t have listened to Lokka about passing through the valley to get to Markham. He knew a clan was ambushing bandits in the area, he didn’t know why he thought they wouldn’t stop a small caravan. It was a stupid mistake and these stupid lackeys Lokka sent with him were going to get him flayed.

If he got out of this alive, he was going to retire. The kid was all grown, the wife was dead…it was time to pack it in and move to Llomerryn. Nice and hot, plenty of lovely women to look at, and he didn’t have to pretend to be a good man there. Glover tried for so long to put on the show, be a good father to the kid, be a good husband to the wife, be a good member of society.

Good didn’t get paid enough. Selling fenced items for Coterie wasn’t enough. Working for lyrium smugglers wasn’t enough. Hell, even picking up knife-ears for the Vints wasn’t enough. But it did keep the wife in a nice house and nice clothes so she could pretend she wasn’t dirt from Lowtown in Kirkwall and that he was the loving father and husband she wanted.

Well, he didn’t go this long to get offed by some filthy savages before he got a chance to live for himself. He heard the knife-ears bringing his breakfast from around the other side of their wagon they had him and the idiots tied up to. If it was the young, bare-faced one again, he’d see if he could talk some information out of him. Their bare feet pat pat pat as they approached, but it wasn’t the young one that turned the corner. It wasn’t any of the usual ones that had been giving him meals.

It was the woman. The woman he saw a couple nights ago when they brought him and the idiots into their camp. She was in that fancy hut of theirs, talking down to everyone, looking like one of those young girls they’d get to act out Andraste in the summer plays in Starkhaven. Not exactly the same, being an elf savage and all, but her hair was loose and flowing and she looked a little like a bird singing for the Maker.

Now she looked like something else entirely. She had her hair full of all these braids, pieces of bone and wood and leather weaved in it, piled on top of her head like a nest. There was a stripe of black grease paint that went from temple to temple, across her eyes, making it look like she was wearing a mask. He’d seen other hunters wear it in his time; stopped the sun from obstructing their sights. She had armor on too: leather gauntlets, greaves, leggings, and a leather cuirass with strange symbols of what looked like a rabbit. If she looked like a little song bird before, she was a vulture now, ready to pick his bones clean.

The rabbit woman looked at them, her eyes cold and hard. She was flanked by two other elves. One was short and stocky, looking almost like a dwarf. The other was tall, with dark hair, but not as dark as hers.

“Did you keep their clothes, Twig?” she asked the shorter elf.

“Nah, we burned ‘em with the bandit corpses. Didn’t want any authorities thinking we took hostages,” the shorter elf responded. Glover recognized his voice as one of the hunters who ambushed their caravan.

“Alright Paeris, find them some clothes. Anything that fits. Get them washed up and ready. You have an hour,” she made a command towards the taller elf. He didn’t say anything, but nodded, and the rabbit woman walked away without even acknowledging his response. She had some power in this clan, Glover realized. Makes all that talk of “hunts” and “sacrifice” pretty scary now.

“Go talk to Aricia, see if she can pull together some clothes that might fit,” the tall elf commanded the stocky one.

“Sure thing,” the stocky one replied, “When do we start gathering the hunters?”

“No need,” the taller one stated, his hands flaring with magic now to heal up Lamarr, “Most of the hunters participating are waiting already. It's a big event, Twig. We haven’t had a hunt like this for twenty years.”

“Yeah, well, you can count me out,” the stocky one said as he started walking away, “I don't want to find my ass at the bottom of a ravine thanks to Shem'assan.”

The taller one kept working on the sleeping Lamarr, his bruises and cuts slowly disappearing, while shaking his head and smiling at the stocky one's statement. Glover didn't know much about the Dalish, but he knew mages among them were leaders. If he had any chance of making it out of this with his neck attached to his head, this was the knife-ear to talk to.

“So, a mage huh? Bet you gotta be good at hiding from Templars,” he tried to engage him, get him talking, “They can be real sons of bitches. Until the blue stuff runs dry, that is. After that, they're pretty worthless.”

“Let me guess: I'm supposed to be surprised you know so much about Templars and them hunting mages,” the elf answered him bitterly,” Instead of disgusted that not only have you traded in bodies, but dipped your putrid toe in lyrium smuggling waters too.”

“Stop talking with him Glover, you want to get us killed?” Rory chastised him, nudging his gut with an elbow.

“This ain’t the time to forget your manners, Rory,” Glover stared him down before turning his attention back to the mage elf,” Sorry friend. Didn’t mean to offend. A man has to make his money to support a family somehow, and seeing as I’m a nobody from the bowels of Kirkwall, I gotta take what I can get.”

The mage didn’t pay a lick of attention and just continued healing up Lamarr. In his desperation, Glover slipped up and now he struggled to think of a plan to recover.

“Look friend. I’ve got a kid out there to think about. I did what I had to so he could survive,” Glover switched the tone of his voice, making the plea of a father instead of small talk with a friend, “A lot of what I’ve done, I ain’t proud of. But my kid deserved a better life than I had.”

The mage elf stood up finally, and took a few steps towards him. “You work for Lokka, correct?”

“Err…yeah,” Glover affirmed, afraid of where the elf was going with his train of thought.

“Lokka sent a company out in the Autini Valley a couple of years ago,” the knife-ear now crouched right in front of Glover’s face, dark eyes staring right through him.

“They had planned on picking off our hunters and scouts as they went into the valley,” he continued, “They didn’t manage to get very far. That woman who just ordered me to make sure you’re clothed and clean? She was there.”

Glover took a deep swallow, his throat suddenly swollen and dry. He remembered Autini. It was a nasty mess. A whole company shot full o’ arrows and necks cut open ear to ear. If the rabbit woman was there, it didn’t bode well for him.

“She also happens to be my sister. I saw her when she rode back to camp on a stolen horse. She had her best friend’s blood all over her. He took an axe in the chest from one of Lokka’s men. She didn’t return with her mentor, another hunter. He died in that valley.”

“We didn’t have anything to do with that!” Rory spoke up, hitting his fist on the ground. “Lokka gives the orders, we just follow them!”

“I doubt my sister will care,” the elf stood up again, “Don’t worry shems; you’ll get your chance to prove if your life is worthwhile.”

The elf walked away, and Rory watched his back anxiously. “What do you think they’re going to do to us?”

“Probably kill you,” Glover relaxed, leaning back into the wagon anchoring his chains, “Me? That’s still up in the air.”

\--

It was close to mid-morning when they had finally finished washing and dressing the three prisoners. Glover was surprised when they bathed him in warm water and used real soap. The clothes they gave him were made from wool and fur and were a bit too tight, but nice and warm for the still chilly spring air. They even managed to scrounge up some boots for them; though where they got them from was anyone’s guess. The Dalish didn’t wear shoes like civilized folk.

They fed them an actual meal, but Lamarr and Rory both refused to eat it. Paranoid fools. There was a reason the knife-ears were going through all the trouble to make them comfortable, and if they used their brains, they’d realize it was a good idea to take advantage of it.

Glover inhaled the food they gave him – shredded meat swimming in its own juices with some kind of flat, spongy bread to soak it all up. He didn’t know about most of the stuff Dalish did, but they sure knew how to make a meal that sticks to the ribs. After he ate his food and his accomplices’ share, they were moved to the center of camp. A large crowd of knife-ears had gathered, forming a big circle around something. As his guards pushed their way through the crowd, he saw what was there.

A stone slab had been laid in the middle of the circle surrounded by lit torches, or what looked at first like a slab. Upon further inspection, he saw the monument was made of smaller bricks, tightly packed together and smoothed over with some kind of mortar. Probably made it easier to move when they packed up camp. On the center of the slab was a bowl filled with dark liquid. Knowing how these savages were, Glover guessed it was blood.

Glover, Lamarr, and Rory were forced to the ground by their guards, and they sat in the hard packed dirt while they waited for…something. The other elves chattered and gossiped, but the cacophony of all their voices made it hard to discern exactly what they were talking about. Whatever was happening, they were excited.

The mage and the stocky elf mentioned something about a hunt earlier. He and the others were given food and warm clothes and washed. A bowl of blood on some slab was sitting in front of them. A million theories went through Glover’s head about what it was supposed to mean, and none of them were good. If he could just dump these two pieces of dead weight, he still might have a fighting chance…

His thoughts were interrupted when the gathering crowd parted and a group of grim-faced elves moved into the area. They walked in formation, two lines flanking either side of the slab. Well trained, must be hunters, Glover thought to himself. He knew the Dalish hunters were better trained than most militia, but it was still strange to see such foreign people march like soldiers, even if it wasn’t exactly the same. He felt a twinge of nostalgia from his own time in the army that left him immediately when he realized that he’d probably have to use everything he learned there to get out of this with his head on his shoulders.

The hunters stood in stony silence. There weren’t many of them, maybe twenty or so. He recognized a couple of them. One was the thin, reedy looking one who chased down Rory when he tried to make a run for it. The other was the leader who captured them in the first place. In the daylight, he got a good glimpse of him; a bit above average height, dirty blonde hair tied back, freckles covering his face and neck, and just as surly looking as the rest of them. What caught Glover off guard was that he couldn’t have been much older than his own kid. His boy was in his twenty first year, and just joined the city guard as a recruit, barely able to swing a blade in the right direction. This knife-ear has been hunting and killing for years, obviously disciplined and ambitious enough to lead his own raiding party.

Glover’s earlier nervousness returned when he realized he couldn’t discount even the youngest of these savages. For a middle-aged man such as himself, that was worrisome. Outrunning wasn’t an option. The only tool he had left was his guile. He hoped he’d get a chance to use it.

The stillness was broken as the tall mage from earlier walked towards the slab, along with two other elves. One was older, closer to his age, hair dark but graying, robes flowing at her feet, and a staff of rank on her back. She was probably their…Focuser? Learner? He couldn’t recall what Dalish called their clan leader. Didn’t really matter in his line of work. An elf is an elf. A younger one followed the leader, the tattoos on her face fresh, but her hair was completely gray, as if she’d been spooked by a ghost. Her eyes darted between the hunters and the big stone slab, making her look like a nervous deer. Probably another mage. A lot of mages for one clan.

Behind them stood the rabbit woman and possibly the oldest elf he’d ever seen. The rabbit woman supported the old woman with her arm, and pulled out a small, folding stool for her to sit on. The rabbit woman wore her armor from earlier, and the old woman’s bony frame was covered by a cloak; gray and white furs hung down her shoulders and over her chest, held closed by an elaborate buckle anchored in place with fine leather straps. Another important clan member, apparently.

The tall elf approached him and the two idiots and stood near them, while the leader and the gray-haired elf stood on either side of the stone slab. The old woman sat down on her small stool, and the rabbit woman stood with her hands behind her back, her chin held high. Whatever everyone was waiting for was about to begin.

“Elgar’nan’s gaze falls upon Clan Lavellan today, as we gather to punish these shemlens for their sins against our kin,” the leader spoke, her voice deeper than Glover imagined it would be,” But it is Andruil who will be exalted as we dole out our vengeance in the Dire Hunt. Blessed be Her Name.”

_“Blessed be Her Name_ ,” the hunters called back in unison, startling Rory next to him. He started to shake and weep, making Glover roll his eyes. He was too soft-gutted for this kind of work. Lokka should've known better.

“Today our strongest and bravest hunters gather here, eyes watching, mouths eager. They are ready to prove themselves to the Lady of the Hunt, by tracking Her sanctified prey. The best hunter shall prevail, and we will bear witness to their worthiness to serve the Sister of the Moon's chosen. Blessed be Her Maiden,” the leader droned on in a chant-like voice.

_“Blessed be Her Maiden.”_

“The Shadow stalks Andruil's prey, always silent, never leaving its trail. No matter how fast the prey runs, or how high it jumps, or how long it hides, the Shadow will always be there. We use Andruil's sanctified prey to distinguish the Shadow on this Dire Hunt. Her Will shall be done by your hands. Blessed be Her Will.”

_“Blessed be Her Will.”_

The gray-haired girl began walking around each torch in the circle, sprinkling some kind of dust on them. After each pinch of dust was placed in the torch's sconce, a white, bitter-smelling smoke curled out from it and enveloped the center of the ceremony. It burned the back of Glover's throat and reminded him of his childhood, his mother locking him and herself in a closet, candles lit, praying to Andraste for hours on end. He shuddered.

“We purify the blood of Her Children, so we may devote new prey to Her Glory,” the leader's hands began to glow over the bowl of blood sitting on the slab. The gray-haired elf joined her, both their arms flowing in harmony, their snaking tendrils of magic mixing with white smoke and moving around the gilded bowl.

As the magic moved into the bowl, it ignited the liquid inside. A bright, flashing blue flame climbed up and out of the bowl, spreading across the entire slab of stone. It burned so brightly, Glover turned his head away, his eyes watering and clenching shut. The entire make-shift temple shimmered with magical energy, the ozone quality of it clinging to his nostrils and eyes, like frost on the tips of grass. He felt his ears popping, as if he was underwater, and he whispered prayers to the Maker under his breath. He'd never seen magic like this, and the overwhelming atmosphere felt like it was crushing him.

But as quickly as the churning magic rose up, it went out, dispelled quickly by leader and her apprentice. Glover could breathe again, and he took in gasping gulps of the tainted air. Rory cried next to him, and Lamarr thrashed around, trying to force his way out of the chains that still held him. Their guards gripped down on all three men, pulling them up off the ground. Lamarr fought and cursed, while Rory screamed and sobbed hysterically. Glover was afraid, but knew fighting wouldn't save him.

The guards bound Lamarr tigher, and gagged him and Rory with hard leather strips tied around their heads. When they attempted to do the same with Glover, he spoke up.

“Now now fellas, no need for that. I haven't argued or fought back,” he persuaded them, “I'm a firm believer in mutual cooperation. If you work with me...well son, I'd be happy to work with you.”

The guards turned confused glances towards the tall mage with the dark brown hair, and he merely nodded. Glover was still restrained, but he had been given some precious freedom. Even the smallest advantage had to be taken.

They forced the prisoners towards to the slab, lining them up single file. Glover had the good fortune to be last.

“The blood of the Children is purified. We will now add the blood of the prey, so that our hunters may be blessed by the Mother of Hares. Hallowed be Her Name,” their leader spoke.

_“Hallowed be Her Name.”_

The leader pulled a knife from her robes, an ornate looking thing, and the guards forced a kicking and fighting Lamarr in front of the slab. Glover swallowed, fear welling up in his gut. He almost wished he wasn't the one to watch. As they finally subdued and pressed Lamarr's stomach against the stone alter, the leader took the ornate blade and ran it swiftly across his forearm. Lamarr flinched, but was unable to move much more than that.

Once his blood starting to flow out, the gray-haired girl motioned to the guards, and they lifted Lamarr's cut arm up. The girl moved the bowl of blood underneath, and let a dripping stream of Lamarr's own blood fall into the bowl. The bowl glowed blue momentarily, and the girl chanted some elven gibberish into it.

They did the same for Rory, and moved to do the same for him. He didn't like the idea of getting his arm cut up, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. For what it was worth, the blade was sharp and the sting of the cut was minimal. The guards moved them away from the slab again, and the tall mage standing to the side healed up the gashes on their arms. His cooling magic soothed the stinging, but he still didn't explain anything to them.

But Glover hadn't stayed alive in his line of work for so long by being stupid. All these talks of hunt and prey and blood sacrifices...the three of them were meant to act as some sort of game for the hunters. He was glad he had eaten earlier; he would need all his strength and wit in the coming hours, he was sure.

When the chanting was done and the bowl of blood stopped glowing, the ancient-looking elf stood up from her stool. Her legs were shaking and her hands visibly trembled. Going by the curling of her arthritic fingers and her bent shoulders, Glover guessed this woman wasn't a mage. More likely a senior hunter, going by her battered body. She opened her wizened mouth, void of any teeth, and spoke to the crowd:

“It has been twenty years since a Dire Hunt has been invoked, and over fifty since the last time Andruil chose a new Maiden to serve her and the People of our proud clan. My years serving as Maiden have at last come to an end, and the Sister of the Moon can turn her gaze upon us again, giving us another fifty years of peace and prosperity. May She hear our plea.”

_“May She hear our plea.”_

“With my time over, a new era begins. Does anyone deny that Elain, daughter of Master Vhannas and Meira, grandaughter of Master Aran'al and Hearth Matron Mandua, is of clan Lavellan?”

The hunters stood silently, statues staring ahead in time.

“Does anyone deny that Elain passed her Final Trial and learned the secrets of the Mother of Hares?”

More silence.

“Do the hunters of clan Lavellan, faithful followers of the Lady of the Hunt, object to Elain leading them as Maiden of the Hunt?”

The old woman looked from right to left at the two lines of silent hunters, nodding her head.

“Do the hunters of Clan Lavellan accept Elain as their Maiden?”

“ _With our bows, we hunt for Her._ ” The hunters stomped their feet on the ground as they spoke, reminding Glover again of his military days.

“So be it. The Maiden is accepted by her hunters, and the Dire Hunt will decide who the best among them is. Step forward, and receive her blessing.”

The hunters moved in formation again, and lined up against the slab. The rabbit woman stalked towards them, her form graceful and fluid, and paused before the makeshift shrine. She took the bowl of blood and set it at the head of the slab, then gently dipped her fingers into the bowl.

Each hunter stepped up to her and knelt on one knee, saying some prayer or chant in elven gibberish again before standing. The rabbit woman responded in some gibberish as well, and then dragged her bloody hand across their face, making a mark that mimicked the greasepaint on her own. After every hunter received their mark, they walked back to the sidelines, reforming the ranks they stood in before.

Glover watched each hunter carefully, convinced now that he would be running for his life soon enough. He needed to memorize each face, ferret out any weaknesses, and look for any strength. The red haired one favored his left knee, the one with the scar across his forehead squinted more than the others, and the thin, reedy one was faster than them all. Each hunter walked to the rabbit woman to get their blood, and each hinted at something Glover could use.

The last one to approach her was the blonde leader that caught him. His gait was quiet, legs long and steps controlled, his focus was impenetrable, and Glover had a feeling in his gut he would need to watch out for him. The blonde knelt, said the prayer, and stood to receive his blood. But unlike the other hunters, he spoke directly to the rabbit woman after she adorned him.

“Congratulations Maiden. You have been the first – and last – person I will ever kneel to,” he smirked down on her as he spoke, and the crowd broke out in chuckles.

There it was: the blonde's weakness. He was arrogant. It also made him dangerous. It didn't matter if it was human, knife-ear, or even a Maker damned dwarf; a man arrogant enough to speak during a solemn ritual probably had some skill to back it up. The trick would be using that puffed up head against him.

“Back in line, Shem'assan!” the tall mage called from next to Glover, his voice full of laughter. The blonde hunter flashed a small smile at the rabbit woman again before moving to his place.

The rabbit woman, unphased by the hunter's comments, walked around the slab, passed Glover and the other two prisoners, and pushed her way through the crowd. The tall mage motioned for the guards to pick up their wards, and soon the entire group was following her. She strode ahead alone, never looking back to make sure everyone followed. Glover thought she was the kind of woman who would know.

She began singing a song, the words low at first, growing louder after each line. The hunters began to sing along with her, and somewhere in the crowd behind them, Glover heard some other elves playing hand drums. His guards joined in, as well as most of the trailing crowd. Their voices resonated across the plains, filling the air like a fog.

He didn't understand the words, but he knew the song. After the Fifth Blight, elven ballads became all the rage in Orlais after a knife-ear warden killed off the Archdemon. A gorgeous bard in Jadar sang this song in a tavern he was frequenting a couple of years ago. It was some kind of hunting blessing, she told him. She was singing it alone with a lute though, making it sound pretty. The way these elf savages sang it was ominous. The drums imitated a heartbeat, the lyrics were more accented, and the voices were deeper and slower. This wasn't meant to be a little upbeat jig like the bard sang.

This was a war song.

“Scared yet, shemlen?” the tall mage asked him.

“Me? Nah, just enjoying some music,” Glover responded, forcing himself to keep his voice level. Showing weakness now would do him in.

“Do you know what the song is about?” the mage questioned.

“Nope. Sorry, don't speak the language,” he replied back.

“It's a plea to our goddess, asking Her to make Her prey clever and fast, so that the hunters may savor the chase of the gifts She gives them,” the mage explained.

“And I suppose me and my colleagues here are the gifts?” Glover observed.

The tall mage merely smiled before starting to sing along with the crowd.

\--

When they at last reached the edge of the forest outside of camp, the songs were over and the sun was directly overhead. It was noon, it was bright, it was warmer than it had been in weeks, and if it weren’t for the two hundred elf savages looking at him now, Glover would think it’s a pretty nice day.

The clan had stilled in the bright light of the afternoon, waiting in a grassy clearing in rows. They had unchained him and the other two prisoners and pushed them into the clearing in front of the everyone, but kept their bows aimed at them. Even Lamarr stood and waited, knowing that running now meant death. Glover guessed they'd be releasing them into the forest and then letting the hunters go after them. He didn't relish the thought, but he's had worse odds.

The rabbit woman stood staring at him and the other two in front of her hunters. She tapped her foot and scowled at them, maybe trying to figure out what to say. He wished she'd say it soon.

“The sun rises high in the sky, and the prey has been sanctified. Leave shemlen. You will have until nightfall before my hunters may follow,” her voice echoed in the clearing, sending a flock of waiting birds into the air. She turned and walked away, the crowd going with her. The crowd dispersed and only the hunters remained.

The other two took off and ran fast into the forest, but Glover took a minute to get his bearings. He caught a glimpse of the Vimmarks to the southwest. Markham would be three days east, or he could try to get to the village of Horner, about two days northwest. The roads to Horner were usually empty, though the forest wasn't as thick that ways. There was a main highway leading to Markham. It was the longer route, but the safer bet. Hunters were less likely to attack him on a main road.

Rory and Lamarr were gone already, disappeared into the wooded darkness. Glover took one last look at the hunters before he would do the same. They all looked as if they were made of stone, standing at attention while they watched their prey escape. All of them...except the blonde.

He grinned widely at Glover, the blood still dripping slowly down his face. Her knew that look. Knew it intimately. It was the look of a man who has already won the game.


	7. Prey

Glover Donovan had been in many messes in his life. There was the time he got caught in bed with guardsman’s wife. The time he was dipping into the Coterie’s treasury. The time the Kirkwall guard busted in on a counterfeit coin operation he was part of. The time he was cooking Lokka’s books for his front and the Merchant’s Guild came sniffing. All of them close calls. All of them might have killed him. 

But it took a lot to kill Glover Donovan. 

And he hadn’t lived this long to let a knife-ear barely off his mother’s tit finish him off with an arrow. He knew it was the blonde one following him, tracking him. Knew it in his bones. He hadn’t encountered any of the other hunters since he left the afternoon before, and he thought he’d put enough time and distance between him and that Dalish camp to get a couple hours of sleep.

He was wrong though. He was woken early in the morning by a blood-curdling scream. It was pretty far away from Glover, but it echoed over the empty plains. His head told him it was an animal, but his gut told him it was Rory. The poor sod never had the heart for this kind of work, and now it probably got him killed. That meant the hunters were closer to Glover than he was comfortable with, so he had to move fast. 

He waded through marshland to get on the solid ground of the nearby forest. Cutting right through would lead him straight to the main road to Markham. He thought the wet meadows on the lake near the forest would be too difficult to track him though, and that the hunters would get turned around. That was the wrong assumption to make.

Glover still hadn’t seen him, but he knew he was being stalked. The air was too quiet, the animals were scared off by something, and an almost imperceptible rustling of the decomposing underbrush from the previous season could be heard in intervals off in the distance behind him. He was trying to be quiet, trying to put the stalker off, but he was losing valuable ground. He had to think.

No matter what, a Dalish hunter is going to be quieter than him. He’s too deep in the forest now to lose him in the marshland again. There’s no running water he could swim downstream in to throw off his trail. Besides, the season was still early, and he’d likely catch a chill from the icy waters. His best bet would be to get to the main road as fast as he could, and make a hell of a lot of noise. 

He stole one last look behind him to see if he could catch a glimpse of whoever was following his trail and saw nothing still. It was time. It was his life at stake. He took off in a sprint, pushing his body as fast as it would go. If it was twenty years ago, ten years ago – hell, even five years ago – he might’ve just outrun the elf. He had enough of a lead that jogging should get him to the road before he got an arrow in the back, but that was before he knees started to creak, before his back started to ache, before the breath came shorter and shorter each year. Five years ago, he might have made it. Today, there was only a hope and prayer. 

The prayer he said under his breath as he ran; Maker, I know I don't listen to the Chant like I should, but if you help me get out of this without my guts being rearranged, promise I'll sing it every day. The hope was up to the Maker now.

He was fortunate it was still early in the spring. The trees and grasses were budding, but the underbrush of summer hadn't grown yet, leaving his path fairly clear. His legs ached and his arms pumped, and the squishing sounds of his feet against the ground were lost as his heart pounded in his ears. He weaved around trees and their dangerous roots, trying to maintain speed but not lose his footing, and he seemed to be gaining some ground. The mangled shadows of tree branches were becoming less and less prominent as more and more sun got through their canopy above him. The forest was thinning, and that meant the road was not far.

Just as the hope started to spring up in him, he heard a steady thump thump thump of another runner nearby. The footfalls weren't right on top of him, but close enough he could hear them over his own thumping heart. Glover pushed himself, tried to get his tired legs to move faster, and hoped that adrenaline was enough to get him out of this. He just had stay far enough ahead, veer just enough that an arrow shot would be impossible to make. He swerved around a gnarled root that stuck out of the ground like an old bone, his panting breaths threatening to choke him. This had to be over soon. It had to.

The footfalls got closer, but not louder, and he looked in their direction to see the man hunting him. To his horror, there was no one there. He heard him, _heard him_ , but the shadows of the trees and his own vision blurring from the sweat dripping down obstructed his stalker. But those damned footfalls were still coming, still closing in, still promising him that his death was near. 

Glover wouldn't go down without a fight. His fear took over, and his rubbery legs moved even faster, not caring any longer about navigating. He ran and ran and ran and cried out, begging not to die. He wasn't ready to die. He still wanted to see so much, do so much. Llomerryn and all the beautiful woman, watching his son get his guard plate armor, holding his first grandchild, living so much more than he had these past forty-five years. What he had now wasn't enough. He wanted to live.

Then he saw the road. The main road to Markham. The trees had parted and thinned until he saw it lying just beyond a small field beyond the tree line. It was quiet, but off in the distance, he saw the twirling smoke of a campfire, probably a guard patrol stopped by the side of the road for a break. His salvation was at hand. If he could just make it close enough that they could hear him, if he could just be loud enough, the knife-ear would slink back into the damn mud he came from. 

He opened his mouth and yelled as loud as he could, “HELP! HELP PLEASE!”

There was no movement. He was still too far away. He needed to push, keep pushing, if only he could just move a little faster…

The arrow hit the back of his left knee. He crashed into the ground, the pain searing through him, his entire body on fire now. He gasped for air and was too hoarse to yell again. Panic set through him and he stumbled back up, his leg now as heavy as a bag of stones. The road was so close, so close. Only a few more yards and he'd be visible. 

But then the second arrow took out the right knee. The ground rose to meet his face, and he spit and cursed into the slimy, wet forest floor. There was nowhere to go now. His legs wouldn't obey his attempts to move, and his arms were too weak to drag himself. He had been so close. Moans of pain escaped him, but he felt more sensation from his muscles giving out after his mad dash than from the injured knees. He had been defeated. At least, he had been physically defeated. If the hunter wanted him dead, he's sure he'd be dead. But as long as Glover had breath in his lungs, he still had a chance to talk his way out of this.

He pulled his body up to rest against the trunk of a nearby tree, his legs nothing but dead weight now. There was the feeling of pain in them, sharp and pulsing, but not nearly as strong as he expected. The adrenaline must be helping with that. The knees themselves were a pulpy mess, an arrowhead jutting out of the left one. He took a deep breath, willed his heart to stop racing, and grabbed the arrow and snapped it. An excruciating pain shot up his body, making him scream out. Before he lost his nerve, he yanked each end of the arrow out, leaving a pile of skin and blood and torn flesh soaked up by tattered pants. The other arrow was too far embedded to try and pull out. He’d need a surgeon, preferably one who dealt with soldiers. It wouldn’t matter until he could get rid of the elf, though.

As he sat waiting, the numbness leaving and agony replacing it, he heard footsteps approaching. They were weighted now, deliberate, and meant to instill fear in him. Glover had nothing to be scared of anymore though. Either he was going to die or he wasn’t. He lifted his head and watched his stalker approach. A smile spread across his face when he realized he was right: it was the blonde. 

“Had a feeling it was going to be you,” he said to him through gritted teeth as the pain in his knees seared him, “I’m guessing Rory and Lamarr are dead?”

The elf glared at him, his face still covered in the blood from that savage ritual, now oxidized and brown. “You guessed right.”

“I suppose it’s my turn now,” Glover lamented, “Though, if you wanted me dead, I’m sure you would’ve aimed higher.”

He chuckled at the remark before squatting down next to Glover, “Much higher.”

The amusement in the chuckle was dark. It was a joke Glover wasn’t in on. He can’t let himself be intimidated though. If he did, all would be lost. 

“So I’m here and alive, thanks to you,” he started, cautiously treading water,” why is that, I wonder?”

The elf pulled a knife out from his belt. It wasn’t ornate and fancy like the one the Dalish leader used during that ceremony. This thing was blunt, practical, and utilitarian. And by the looks of it, the knife-ear had put it to use often. Thoughts of what he planned on doing with that blade invaded his mind, and he stared into his face, waiting for an answer. 

“You’re alive because I want information on your boss,” the elf replied, his voice level. He turned the knife menacingly in his hand, “And I’m planning on getting it out of you.”

Glover raised his hands in surrender. They were covered in his own blood, rapidly spilling out of his knees now. “No need for any of that knife waving,” he grimaced as the pain still throbbed, “I don’t owe Lokka any loyalty. The bastard probably has it coming to him, anyways. What do you want to know?”

The knife still turned in his hands, fingers deftly rotating it, the blade stained in the blood of his last kill. Glover wondered if it was Rory or Lamarr’s blood. His stomach lurched. 

“Where is he?” the elf asked simply, his eyes on his blade.

“I, uh, need to know what I’m going to get for talking,” Glover managed to get out, the words almost stuck in his throat,” Lokka is a powerful man. And I’m not. Promise me I get to leave here alive, and I’ll tell you everything you want.”

“I want Lokka more than I want you,” the elf said, looking at his knife as he turned it over and over again,” So start talking.”

“Look, I don’t know where Lokka is. He doesn’t work like that. We always go through intermediaries, or drop points, or directly through ‘Vint dealers. Even when I cooked his books, he was always moving,” Glover stammered out, pain and fear overtaking his good sense. He just needed to talk, keep talking, and prolong his life. 

“What kind of books? What’s his front?” he questioned, that damn knife still spinning. 

“Lots of stuff. Lokka is a dwarf, and a big name in the Merchant’s Guild. The Guild don’t know him by “Lokka” though. That’s what Carta and his mercenaries know him as. All I did was erase some numbers on an agriculture business. Growing tobacco in Rivain, I think. That’s it,” Glover was gasping in pain with every word. 

“And I suppose you don’t know his real name? His house?” The knife filled his vision now, glittering and dark all at the same time.

“No, I swear! I barely know anything about him. But…But I can lead you to him,” Glover was growing desperate. The pain was unbearable now. He just wanted to live. “There’s….there’s a…a drop point. We’re supposed to meet. If you let me go…you can follow…me…”

He was having a difficult time breathing, panic taking over as adrenaline left. That goddamned knife still twirled, dancing in the elf’s hand. The elf looked straight at him and moved his head back and forth slowly as he clicked his tongue.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” he said, drawing the knife up to Glover’s neck now, “I was hoping you’d know more. Ah well. Lokka’s time will come soon enough.”

The knife dug in where his jaw met his ear, and he cried out. “I told you everything I know! You gotta let me go…we….we made a deal!”

“I don’t make deals with slavers,” the elf said as he put pressure on the knife and broke the skin of Glover’s vulnerable neck, “Besides...my Maiden wants her first decree to be a success.”

Glover screamed and thrashed, but the elf was stronger and pinned him to the ground with his knees. He dragged the knife through his neck, sawing through his flesh with the dull blade. The blood was spilling down his throat, filling his lungs, choking him; his cries were nothing but strangled gurgles now. Everything was going dark.

“And whatever my Maiden wants, she gets.”

The last thing Glover Donovan saw before he died was his own blood splattered on the grim face of the knife-ear as he methodically cut into the bones of his neck. 

 

\--

 

_Sleep was slowly coming back to her. It happened in longer and longer increments, and now, she began to dream again. The Black Forest was not as sharp anymore, not as clear. It was covered in a dark haze, as if she was recalling a fragment of a memory. It was not like in the mountains._

_The ground was no longer glass and sharp, but soft and full of life. The entire forest floor vibrated with maggots, the smell of decay underneath them invading Elain's nostrils. She sat on a branch of one of the ebony trees, her legs dangling, watching the writhing mass consume to remains of whatever carrion had been there before. She didn't want to touch the putrid worms, didn't really want to be here at all. It made her feel alone again, as if she never really returned and had been forgotten in those mountain passages._

_She started to feel a tremor in the branch of the tree and saw the leaves shake gently. Then, it was quiet for a second before another tremor went through. She counted them, listened for them, tried to figure out the direction they came from. But they came from all directions, even some she didn't know existed. They were measured and steady, like footsteps. Elain knew in her heart what approached, and she knew also there was no way to escape._

_The Woman entered the glade with Her golden spear in hand, and the mass of maggots parted everywhere Her foot touched the ground. The air changed immediately, everything becoming more clear, and golden dust clung to the atmosphere around Her. She looked up at Elain with Her glass black eyes and conical red teeth, and smiled. It made Elain tremble._

_“Does my Maiden fear me?” a chorus of thunderous voices asked as She spoke._

_“Yes,” Elain replied._

_“Does she understand me?”_

_“No mortal could understand you, Great One,” Elain's voice shook as bad as her limbs._

_“Then why do you fight against my gifts?” The golden spear pointed towards her now, the hares decorating its tip gleaming._

_“I...I don't understand,” the words left her mouth of their own volition, and she regretted it._

_“You are mine,” She thrust the golden spear into Elain's chest again, filling her with warm pain,” Do not think you are above feeling both the pain and pleasure I provide.”_

_She yanked the spear back, pulling Elain out of the tree with it, and she fell to the ground. The maggots immediately swarmed over her, covering her body, their little mouths latching onto her wounded flesh. She couldn't scream, couldn't breathe, couldn't even move. All she could do is feel her skin and bones being torn apart by tiny gnashing teeth and cry as she watched the Mother of Hares look down on her body being consumed._

“Elain, wake up!” 

She was pulled out of the dream by her brother's voice in her doorway. Her body shot forward, her breathing heavy, and a cold sweat poured from her face. She looked around her yurt, trying to get a sense of where she was, what she was. When her hands found no wound from the spear on her chest and no swarming worms covering her body, she answered him. 

“What do you want? Can't you see I was finally getting some rest?” she threw the blankets covering her back and climbed out of her cot. She leaned over the side and stared at her feet, trying to regain a semblance of reality. 

“I'm sorry Elain, but this couldn't wait,” her brother was exasperated, his face red from running and his eyes full of anxiety. “The rest of the hunters came back from the Dire Hunt.”

“And that couldn't wait until for dawn to arrive?” she shot back, irritated by his constant exaggeration of situations. She stood up and stretched, reaching towards the ceiling and feeling her limbs loosen up. 

“No. You have to come with me,” he saw she wasn't taking him seriously, “Now.”

His tone convinced her that this was more important than she was giving him credit for. She slipped on her deerskin leggings and an oversized tunic and followed him out into the camp. The camp itself was starting to waken and more elves were out at this time than she expected. The return of the hunters was exciting, but she imagined most people would want to sleep and celebrate later.

They crossed the training grounds and headed towards the edge of their little settlement. As they got further and further away from the center of camp, more and more people were out. Elain saw a small crowd milling about near the meadow where she released the prey only a few days prior. They conversed quietly, their words betraying fear. 

“Move!” Paeris barked at the lingering crowd, their whispers growing louder with her approach. The group parted and she saw what the rest had all gathered to see.

At the edge of the meadow, there stood three pikes embedded into the ground. On the crude tip of each pike, the head of the shemlen sat, their eyes glassy and skin bloated. The decomposing mouths were agape, as if screaming their dying breaths, and a swarm of devouring flies hovered around the scene. Elain approached the gruesome display slowly, her eyes never leaving the severed head planted in the center. She saw something dangling from the prize, something white and familiar. The voices of Keeper Deshanna and War Lord Den arguing hovered behind her, but she was focused on the gift left with the sanctified prey of Andruil.

A white ivory halla charm that she gave to Revas for safe keeping before she went into the mountains, swinging slowly from the head of his prey. 

“This is unbelievable! We're not far from a very busy road that Markham guards patrol everyday. Any of them could've seen this!” Paeris ranted in anger next to her, “You were supposed to keep him under control!”

She plucked her gift from the rotting head of a shemlen not even worth mourning, and ignored her brother's bothersome patronizing. She stroked the precious figurine and smiled brightly as the sun peaked over the horizon, bringing dawn with it.


	8. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is lots of sexual content in this chapter.

“ _This is unforgivable_! One hunter is going to compromise the entire clan!” Loremaster Kellen shouted at the gathered Council.

An impromptu meeting had been called in Keeper Deshanna’s large pavilion, and every prominent elf in Clan Lavellan had been required to be there. Elain was reclining on the floor next to the stool Old Bida sat on, and she listened with disinterest as she dipped a piece of peach in a dish a fresh cream lying nearby. Outside of the pavilion, she could hear raucous laughter and loud music playing in celebration of a successful Dire Hunt. She brought the cream-covered peach slice to her mouth, and thoughtfully chewed it. The Council meeting was going nowhere, and she’d rather be celebrating with her hunters.

“The clan will have to move, no doubt,” Paeris said as he looked down on the fire blazing in the middle of the pavilion. “We’re not in a defensible position now, thanks to Revas.”

“Don't put this entirely on him. My son has defended this clan more times than I can count! He isn’t doing anything our lead hunters haven’t taught him to do,” Sohta argued back, her face flushed. Elain noticed how much she and her son looked alike when their anger surfaced.

“Did the lead hunters teach him to impale shemlen heads and display them close enough to a main road that authorities could see it?” Master Vhannas challenged her, his voice as level and calm as always.

“Did they teach him to fall in front of an axe to save your daughter’s life, Vhannas?” Sohta pointed an accusing finger at him, “He may be brash at times, but he has proven himself time and again!”

“Proven what a reckless fool he is,” Kellen cut back in, “We cannot afford to keep letting him have free reign. Den should’ve stifled this years ago…”

War Lord Den laughed loudly, filling the pavilion with his mirth. “Stifle Revas? You must be joking, Kell. The only thing that keeps that boy from getting himself in more trouble is a bow in his hand and a target. I say we give it to him. Use it to our advantage,” he took a drink out of the wine bottle he was holding and continued, “Make him my Second. These slavers and smugglers will think twice about harassing us when news of what he did comes out.”

“They would leave us alone entirely if you didn’t encourage him to provocation!” Kellen countered, his voice strained from the long hours of argument. “Him being your Second means you stay here with your drinks and women while Revas terrorizes the shems outside the Marcher cities. It’ll be the end of us!”

“Don’t be such a coward Kell. A few maneuvers to prove to the shemlen we aren’t to be trifled with wouldn’t hurt,” Den waved him off, unperturbed by his accusations, and took another deep drink.

“You haven’t proposed any solutions to curb his...enthusiasm, Kellen,” Keeper Deshanna reprimanded from her chair at the head of the pavilion. Elain could see she was growing impatient with the bickering and lack of progress. She hoped it meant that they’d be dismissed and she might be able to get some of the confiscated mead from the raids before it was all gone.

“Nor has he taken into consideration that my son was the one who brought back Andruil’s sanctified prey,” Sohta added, “Or does tradition mean nothing to this clan anymore?”

“If you’re so concerned about tradition, have him take care of the halla with you, Sohta. Put your beast with the other beasts,” Vhannas suggested, venom dripping off his every word. His statement made rebuttals swim to the tip of Elain's tongue, but she knew better than to show any reaction. It’s what her father wanted.

Sohta did not know better. Or, like Revas, she just didn’t care. She stood up from her place on the floor and was on Vhannas nearly instantly, yanking the collar of his tunic and pulling him across the ground. Vhannas kicked and yelled his displeasure, not being a fighter himself, and Paeris stepped in to pull Sohta off his father. She was not content to let him be however, and heaped added insult by spitting directly on Vhannas' dust-covered face. The other members of Council began talking over each other loudly at the outburst, and Den laughed again, his booming voice ringing in the tense air.

“ENOUGH!” Keeper Deshanna struck her staff against the ground, making the fire in her brazier and lanterns glow blue. It lit the pavilion in an otherworldly light, casting shadows in places where no shadows should be. The Council went silent and turned embarrassed eyes onto the Keeper. Elain brought another piece of cream-drenched peach to her mouth as she watched with amusement.

“You are acting no better than children! You are leaders among us, tasked with making life here better for everyone,” Deshanna patronized the gathered group, slamming her staff on the ground again. The ethereal light dissipated, and she continued, “To see you fight like da'len is embarrassing. I have been the Keeper of this clan for 22 years now, and I have never seen such rudeness.”

Deshanna sat back down on her chair, staring down the Council. Elain had never seen her so angry. In all the years she had been alive, Keeper Deshanna had always been a patient woman. She was always willing to lend her ear to the clan's issues, no matter how small. This matter was severe enough, even she was rattled.

“Old Bida,” she directed her attention to the older elf next to Elain,” This Council has shamed you by not asking your opinion on this matter. Being the most elder here and our previous Maiden, you're thoughts on this hold the most weight.”

Old Bida cleared her throat and made the effort to stand up to address the Council. She looked between Vhannas and Sohta, now both on opposite sides of the pavilion, avoiding eye contact with each other.

“I'm glad someone recognized my voice on this Council,” the old elf began, the Mantle of her station still worn proudly on her shoulders,” It is too bad that you all let the Dread Wolf grab your toe and guide you away from realizing the truth sooner.”

Elain quirked her mouth into a small smile. Bida never could resist talking down to rest of the Council when she had the chance.

“It's obvious we must pack up camp and move on sooner than expected. That cannot be helped. But, the boy wasn't wrong in making a show of his win. The Shadow of the Maiden must instill fear in anyone that would cross her, anyone that would blaspheme against her or the Goddess. Does anyone deny this?”

Old Bida scanned the room, waiting for anyone to speak up. Master Vhannas' eyes bore through her, but Elain knew Bida was too old to care about being intimidated.

“Good. It seems you all aren't completely useless then,” Bida huffed, sitting back down on her stool, “The boy earned the title. Let him be Banal'ras.”

“He earned it by putting everyone in danger!” Kellen protested again.

“He earned it by hunting and killing slavers that took two of our scouts last season, _as commanded by his Maiden_. The display was appropriate, considering the act of aggression was done to our clan first,” Bida leveled Kellen with a cold stare.

“We cannot afford to draw that kind of attention, hahren,” Paeris interjected.

“We cannot afford to lose even one of our precious People to slavers. This is a warning. The Marcher cities will not attack for us dealing with criminals,” Bida assured him, “However, the decision is not mine to make. It is Elain's.”

The entire Council turned their eyes on her. She was relieved she'd finally get a chance to end this ridiculous meeting. It was always going to end the same way, but some of the more traditional members of the Council wanted to have their say before the inevitable happened.

“The Marchers will not retaliate. Lokka might. The clan moves north anyways to make the trip to Andruil's shrine for Her Holy Day,” she spoke directly, intending her words to be the final say in the matter,” Revas has earned the title of Banal'ras. I will have him as my Shadow.”

Whispers broke out in the pavilion, but Keeper Deshanna stood up again and ended all conversation.

“The Maidens have spoken, and I will abide their will in the matter. Revas will be initiated,” she turned to Paeris, “You will perform the marking ceremony on him. Sar'een must be taught how it is done, so I will have her sit in with you. Do you have any objections?”

“No hahren,” Paeris responded respectfully.

“Then it's settled. The clan will move by the end of the month, and Elain will have her Shadow. You are all dismissed,” her words were final.

The Council members rose and lingered about, chatting and gossiping about the results of the meeting. Elain had enough of the political posturing for the evening, and stood up from her place next to Bida. She quietly took her leave, whispering her departure to Old Bida before she walked out into the cool night. The camp was still loud and alive from the celebration, but she was too tired now to partake in the revelry.

As she made her way across camp to her own yurt, she took a deep breath of the night air and felt a sense of relief. One more step in the path to claiming her birthright was taken, and she was that much closer to wearing the Mantle. There was no time to reflect on the guilt and regret of having Revas as her Shadow. In fact, since she saw his “gift” for her, all she could think about was how much she wanted to be alone with him. As Shadow, he was expected to be with her at all times, and her heart raced at the prospect. She idly stroked the ivory halla around her neck, and weaved through the revelers slowly, lostin her own thoughts.

 

–

When she finally made her way into her pavilion, she was not surprised to find him there. The lanterns had been lit, the brazier stoked, and there he was, laying across her cot like he owned it. He smelled of mead and the fires, and he only wore his linen pants that went under his armor. The onyx halla she made him all those years ago laid on his bare chest. She turned around immediately and tied the wicker entrance shut.

“So Peach,” he sat up and faced her, “Did you like my present?”

She closed the last tie and walked towards her table, a grin spreading across her face. “I did.”

“Good,” he responded, his gaze roaming her body, transparent in his intent, “It is so hard to please you sometimes.”

“And yet...you always make it look so easy,” she purred as she reached her table. Opening her box that he gave her, she undid the pins in her hair and placed them inside. Her hair fell down her back in a cascade of black silk, swaying against the base of her spine. She could feel his eyes on her, though she wasn't facing him.

“Council was interesting tonight, Revas,” she said, undoing the laces of her leggings, “It seems you are the downfall of our clan.”

She slid the leggings down her waist, over her thighs, and kicked them away from her. Then, she loosened the ties on her tunic. Somehow she knew there would be no point in taking her time.

“I didn't come to talk about Council,” he said as he stood up. She glanced back at him.

“No?” She let the loosened tunic fall off her body and pool at her feet on the floor. She was left in only her thin undershirt and small clothes.

“No,” he stated, walking towards her. She undid one of the braids in her hair and gently pulled out the beads woven in.

“Then what did you come for?” she asked, though she knew the answer. She felt him standing right behind her, his body a looming heat threatening to consume her.

He wrapped his arm around her stomach and held her still while he yanked her small clothes down. She gasped at his forwardness, and her lips parted in expectation.

“I came here for you,” he whispered in her ear as he molded his body to hers, pushing her against the table. She braced herself with her hands, laying them flat on the wooden surface, and arched her back to push back against him. Her ass pressed against his pelvis, and she felt his cock, already hard and ready for her. He moved his mouth down her neck, leaving hot, wet kisses in his wake.

“For me?,” she asked, her voice low as she tilted her head to the side to allow him better access to her neck, “Does the Maiden's Shadow need something from her?”

He slipped his hand down between her thighs, finding the growing wetness there. She moaned as he rubbed his fingertips against her aching clit, digging her nails into the table. He went in circular motions, clockwise, then counterclockwise, alternating his rubbing with light teasing. “Revas...” she groaned, as his finger ran the length of her entire slit, pausing at her entrance. He pressed his lips against her ear.

“Her Shadow just wants to worship her,” he moved his free hand under her thin shirt and grasped her breast, his fingers rolling and pinching the nipple until it hardened. Once it did, he ran his thumb over it lightly, sending sparks throughout her. She let out a small cry, her body already overwhelmed by him.

“He would do anything for her,” he slipped a finger inside of her. She bit her quivering lip and ground against him as he stroked her, in and out, teasing her clit and then moving back inside of her to curl around that sweet spot that made her legs shake. When he slide a second finger in, she whimpered for release. “He will always do anything for her.”

She turned her head towards him, looking over her shoulder, and leaned back to pull his face towards hers. He understood what she wanted, like he always did, and covered her mouth with his. Their kiss burned hot, with tongues thrashing and teeth biting, both of them impatient and eager. His hands still moved all over her, arousing her beyond words, and she reached between their bodies to stroke his cock. She slipped her hand under the band of his pants, and pressed his hardened length into her palm. His tip was wet with his own arousal, his precum viscous and hot on her fingertips. He groaned into her mouth as she moved her palm, slick with his need, up and down his shaft. His cock twitched when she wrapped her entire hand around him and slowly stroked the pulsing point under his head. She imagined what he would taste like in her mouth as she worked him over, and sucked on his tongue to satisfy the fantasy.

Revas cried out and pulled away from her when she drug his tongue between her lips, and she turned around to look at him. They were both panting, half dressed, and flushed with the heat of their desire. They stared at each other, realizing where they were and what they were doing, and for once, Elain didn't care. She just wanted him, wanted him without all the guilt, without the anger, without the resentment.

She ripped off the thin undershirt she still had on over her head, kicked off her small clothes, grabbed his face and brought it back to hers, filling his mouth with hers. He devoured her, sucking and biting on her lips, before moving onto her neck. She tangled her hands into her hair, guiding him down the exposed skin on her throat, gasping when he ran his teeth the length of it. She couldn't help but press her waist against his cock again, and he moaned and grabbed her ass, digging his hands into the soft flesh. When she took his tongue between her lips again, Revas had reached his limit.

He grabbed her waist and spun her around impatiently, then bent her over the table. She leaned onto her palms, bracing herself, pushing her ass towards him in need as he released himself from his pants. He reached back out to grip her hips, then buried his cock deep inside of her. “Mmmm,” she moaned low, licking her lips at the sensation of him inside of her. He started slowly, moving in and out of her, filling her to the hilt, then pulling all the way back out. His hand rand down the length of her back as she moved her hips backwards to meet his slow thrusts. She took in a breath with a deep gasp every time he entered her, and sighed in want whenever he pulled back out.

They moved easily together, his thrusts deep and long, and her hips tilting and turning to match his pace. She felt the fire inside her burning low, but hot, building her up at a languid pace. It made her entire body tremble, and her moans could almost be heard above the loud music and laughter in the celebrations in the camp. Revas watched her body twist and curve to meet him, and he reached around to press his fingers against her clit again to see what new ways she could squirm. Her body moved of its own accord, desperately grinding against his hand, and shivering at his torturous pace.

Elain whimpered, “Please...”

He leaned over and ran his tongue over her shoulder, “Please what, Maiden? Tell me what you need.”

She leaned onto her elbows, readjusting the angle he was penetrating her, making him moan loudly.

“I need you,” she said before turning her head and nuzzling his cheekbone. He was so warm and felt so good inside of her. She needed more.

Revas slowed his pace momentarily as he brought his arm around her chest, leaving the other to tease her hard little nub. “Ma nuvenin, ara haurasha,” he groaned into her ear. 

H e  drove back into her,  burying his cock deep in her , and she cried out in  delight . The warmth building up in her threatened to spill over, and she urged him with her arching back. He sped up his pace, filling her so quickly and deeply that she nearly screamed. His hand clamped over her mouth, and he whispered “Shhhhhh” as he thrust inside her. He was driving her crazy, she was so close, heat spreading outward from her core, making her skin tingle and her muscles spasm. 

She kept feeling her climax approaching, but it wasn't until Revas bit down on her shoulder that the pressure reached it's peak, and she was sent over the edge. The built-up climax shook her core, making her abdomen muscles clench as her inner walls spasmed with their release.  White-hot pleasure coursed through her body, blooming throughout her. She felt the orgasm from her chest to the tips of her toes, the release the more delicious than she imagined it could be.  He groaned as  her body gripped down on him, and his pushed himself faster into her.  She panted and gasped behind his hand and dug her nails into the hardwood of the table  as she felt his cock grow harder inside of her as his own release approached. 

His thrusts were punishing now as he came, and his sweet moans filled her ears when he spilled himself in her. He removed his hand from her mouth and drew her into another kiss, their tongues taking their time to taste one another as his cock twitched in the aftermath of his orgasm. They stayed like this for some time, while both their bodies recovered, but eventually, they had to face reality again. 

Revas stepped back and helped her straighten herself after she moved off the desk. Her body was sore, but satisfied, and she blushed when he picked her up and carried her to her cot. He laid her down carefully there and  turned to douse her brazier and lanterns. She took a moment to take him all in  as he did so. His body was slick with sweat,  his hair down and tangled from her hands, his skin scarred for her. The lights were extinguished, and he walked back to her warm bed. She reached up and touched his hand.

“You're beautiful, Rev,” she said sweetly, overcome with emotion for him.

He smirked at the comment before climbing into the cot next to her, “Now look who's being sentimental.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and set her head on his chest, “I can't help it. I love you. Even though I know it's forbidden by the oaths I'll take. But I think I love you more than I fear my oaths.”

His hand stroked her back softly, fingertips sliding up and down her spine. “Shhh...don't think about it now, Peach.”

She murmured into his chest as sleep overcame her, every part of her exhausted but satiated, and for the first time since before she went into the mountains, she did not dream.


	9. Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graphic depiction of cutting/slicing skin and tissue in this chapter

It was mid-morning in the marshlands south of Wycome. The sun was warm, the birds sang brightly, and the Dalish camp was buzzing with activity. Early summer meant hunting, fishing, storing, skinning, sewing, repairing, and most of all…celebrating. They had survived another winter, a new Maiden had emerged, and now, a Banal’ras had been named. The last Shadow died twenty years ago, and this day would mark a new star rising in Clan Lavellan.

A large crowd of hunters stood outside the ritual pavilion to watch the marking ceremony, with members of the Council standing just inside. The pavilion itself was decorated with elaborate wall hangings painted with hunters chasing hares, the sacred prey of Andruil. Linen tapestries of red with gold thread had also been hung from the roof, and wooden painted statues of Andruil lined the room. In the middle of the room, a flat cot with a table at its head to hold the tools and implements for the ceremony has been set up. Elain sat next to Keeper Deshanna and Old Bida, nursing a cup of tea, trying to shake off the tiredness that seeped into her bones. Sleep still managed to elude her, and when it did not, the dreams would prevent her sleep from being restful. Moving camp had been exhausting, and she worried her body wouldn’t readjust in time for her to wear the Mantle.

She watched as Sohta sent nervous glances towards her father on the other side of the pavilion and as Paeris spoke softly to Sar’een, preparing her for the ceremony. They sat around the cot, Sohta in a position of high honor, and Paeris as the instructor to the apprentice Sar’een. Something about the thought unsettled her. He was performing something typically reserved for a more experienced Keeper. The marking ceremony was done rarely, and often Keepers and their Firsts travelled between clans when a ceremony was done in order to gain experience. It was odd Paeris was teaching Sar’een this.

“Is there a reason Paeris is showing Sar’een how to do this instead of you?” she leaned over and asked Deshanna quietly.

“Because he’ll be Keeper of Clan Diceni soon. He needs practice instructing on rites, and Sar’een needs to learn,” the Keeper responded casually, as if Elain was supposed to know this already. Her stomach dropped.

“What do you mean he’ll be a Keeper soon? I haven’t heard anything about this,” Elain whispered harshly.

“He didn’t tell you?” she asked. Elain shook her head. “Hmmm,” Deshanna pursed her lips pensively, “He probably had his reasons. Keeper Ma’sala died suddenly. She was quite young, and had no First. Paeris was asked to take over by name.”

“Who asked for him by name?” she questioned.

“War Lord Threlen. And you know that no one refuses Threlen,” Deshanna stated.

She did know that. The Diceni were a powerful clan, one that had risen in power and prestige in one generation. All of that was due to Threlen. He was a harsh man who had seen war firsthand, and expected the best from his hunters. Those who did not give what he asked were relegated to lesser roles, and in some whispered rumors, exiled. Because of Threlen, Clan Diceni was the only clan to have a group of hunters formidable enough to engage in full-scale combat with an invading force. Many clans sought out their protection when desperate, and her own father had outfitted the highest ranking hunters of the Diceni for battle in exchange for an escort to the Arlathvhen every decade.

And apparently, Paeris would be joining them soon.

Elain scowled and stared at her brother. His recent anxiety over the clan’s protection, his scheming with Old Bida, his push to make Revas the Banal’ras...it all began to make sense. He knew he was leaving, and for some reason, still thinks he needs to protect her. She was tired of being coddled, tired of decisions being made for her, and just tired of her own efforts to earn her title being dismissed in favor of putting her on a pedestal. She felt her temper building up in her, and she bit down on her tongue as she fumed.

Her brooding was interrupted by the playful taunts and shouts of the hunters as Revas finally arrived. He was escorted by War Lord Den, and the pair stopped at the edge of the pavilion, unable to enter until they were consecrated. Elain promised herself there would be a reckoning for Paeris, but this was her moment as much as Revas'. She wouldn't allow her brother's subterfuge spoil a day they had both worked so hard for.

She rose with Keeper Deshanna and walked to the pavilion entrance. Old Bida stayed seated, her legs useless after a bad fall in the last migration. Elain was now in charge of all ceremonial duties of the Maiden because of her declining health, but Bida still held tightly onto the Mantle, pulling it closed over her emaciated body as she watched them prepare Revas. Letting go would be difficult for the woman who had worn it longer than most in the clan had been alive.

Another concern for another day.

“Revas, this is your last chance,” she said as she drew near him, “You have the choice of walking away from the title and pursuing another career. I’m sure Den would be happy to have you.” She smiled brightly at the War Lord.

“Ha! And give up serving a beautiful woman for the rest of his life? I taught him better than that!” Den laughed and hit Revas on the back. The crowd laughed along with him, more for Den’s notorious womanizing than anything else. Even Elain let herself giggle. Revas was not amused, however, and straightened himself with a frown on his face.

“My choice has been made,” he said grimly, “and I’ve earned this. Unless, you think there’s someone else who deserves it more than me?”

“You are right, of course, da’len,” Deshanna cut in with a patronizing tone, “You have earned this. However, some humility would not hurt. This is for the glory of our Great Huntress, not glory for you.”

“Yes, Keeper,” he responded, but his demeanor stayed the same. Asking humility from Revas was like asking the sun to stop rising; a lesson in futility. Deshanna motioned for Sar’een, and the girl rushed to bless their feet with hare’s blood so they could enter the purified sanctuary while she and Elain moved back inside.

The hunters outside crowded around the entrance, unable to come in, but excited over the spectacle none the less. It wasn't often a marking was performed for all to see. Elain was not excited. She knew what it entailed. And she knew what it meant. Her own father had a marking done when he ascended to Master Craftsman. It was a high honor, reserved only for the ceremonies where dedications must be done to the gods themselves. But as with all things with the Dalish, honor came at the cost of sacrifice. It was part of their life, etched in them as surely as the vallaslin on their faces. Vhannas explained this to her when he was marked. She recalled watching him receive his markings when she was a young child, seeing the blood and flesh of her papae, and being very afraid of honor.

“Does anyone of the Council deny that Revas, son of Halla Mistress Sohta, son of the late hunter Heliwr, is of Clan Lavellan?” Keeper Deshanna asked the waiting crowd. The question was met with silence.

“Does anyone deny his rightful victory in the Dire Hunt?” No one spoke, but Loremaster Kellen made a point of clearing his throat at that moment. Elain thought Kellen was a cowardly man, scared of provoking humans, scared of provoking dwarves, scared of provoking the giant Qunari, scared of provoking other clans. He was no less cowardly here, voicing his opinion in the most childish of ways. She glared at him openly, letting her disapproval be known.

“So be it,” Deshanna said, “Come forward and take your oaths, Revas.”

He took two large strides and stood directly in front of Elain. His lips were pursed, his jaw clenched, and his eyes focused directly on her. He was taking this far more seriously than she imagined he would. She met his eyes with her own, and willed him to have strength.

“The Shadow is a weapon of the Maiden, a constant reminder of the darkness cast by the shining light of the gods. Where she basks in the warm light of Andruil, the Shadow will warn away her enemies with the coldness of his arrow. Do you oath?” Deshanna asked.

“ _My arrow shall bring the coldness of death to my Maiden’s enemies_ ,” he responded. His voice was level and low, his eyes never leaving hers.

“The Shadow is a bulwark to the Maiden, a wall of safety in which she may feel secure from the present world and focus on her spiritual enlightenment. When careless supplicants will interrupt her communing with the Goddess, the Shadow is a barrier that all trespassers must face. Do you oath?”

“ _My arm shall shield my Maiden from those who would disturb her_ ,” he spoke the oaths with a weight that humbled her. She fought to keep control of the sinking feeling in her heart, and kept her face impassive for the crowd.

“The Shadow is a cuirass to the Maiden, softening the blows meant to kill her. When her enemies surround and overwhelm her, the Shadow takes the hit from every sword. Do you oath?”

“ _My body shall take all blows meant for my Maiden,_ ” the sinking feeling in her heart grew, and memories of Revas at Autini, broken and bloodied, flashed before her eyes.

“The Shadow is a balm to the Maiden, stopping her from feeling the pain and loss of her hunters to Andruil's Grace. When one hunter falters, the Shadow is worth ten more in his place. Do you oath?”

“ _My spirit shall uplift my Maiden so that she will never fail the Children of Andruil,_ ” he finished.

“By rights of tradition and by the Will of the Mother of Hares, blessed be Her Name...,” Deshanna started.

“ _Blessed be Her Name,_ ” the entire room replied.

“...I declare you Revas, son of Sohta, son of Heliwr, Banal'ras to the Maiden of the Hunt,” she continued, “May you prosper in Shadow, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”

A round of applause spread throughout the pavilion and outside of it, polite congratulations of the oath-taking portion of the rite. Deshanna put her palms in the air and lowered them down again slowly, attempting to quiet the group.

“Your oaths are completed, but faithful followers of the Lady of the Hunt know that words are not as strong as the deeds. By taking this marking, you acknowledge your role, and give your own flesh and blood for the glory of Andruil and the glory of her Maiden. Do you give yourself willingly?”

“I do,” Revas said simply, his eyes never leaving Elain's.

Deshanna smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “You have my blessing.”

Most of the Council now approached him to do the same, as was custom, and Revas finally tore his face from her to meet them. One by one, they placed a hand on his shoulder, nodded politely or said a few short words, then moved back to their spots at the entrance of the pavilion. It was to show support of his sacrifice, and of his new title. Not all approached him, and Elain took a mental note of those who did not. Loremaster Kellen, Healer Deanna, Hearth Matron Aricia. All of them were respected, but not powerful enough to make trouble for Elain. Revas' enemies were her enemies now, and she must be careful about who she cultivated alliances with.

Surprisingly, at the end of the line of the Council members who gave their blessings to him, was Master Vhannas. Elain did not expect her father, of all people, to support him in this after fighting him every step of the way. It was probably a political maneuver she was unaware of, one she couldn't quite figure out. She turned to see Sohta staring daggers at her father, but his demeanor was as elusive as ever.

When it was finally his turn to give his blessing to Revas, he put one hand on his shoulder, and the other reached and placed something in his hand. Revas looked down and opened his palm, and Elain saw a crude device; a small block of wood, wrapped in hard leather. He looked back up at Vhannas.

“The pain is nothing like receiving your vallaslin,” Vhannas explained, “This will help.”

He paused and looked down at his own scarred forearms, the skin puckered and marred by the beautiful lines of June's ironbark creations.

“Trust me, son,” he said quietly before looking to Sohta and walking back to his spot with the Council. Revas closed his fist around the wooden block, lifted his shirt up over his head and tossed it at Sar'een. She caught it with a grunt, and her cheeks flushed before she folded it up carefully and set it down. He also lifted the onyx halla charm he wore around his neck and handed it gently to Elain.

“Keep it safe for me,” he said and smiled softly. She nodded and returned the smile as she clenched the tiny halla in her hand.

As prepared as he could be, Revas made his way to the center of the room, laid on his stomach on the waiting cot, and signaled for Paeris to start with a quick wave of his hand. He gripped the wooden block in his other hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

It was time.

Paeris began by drafting on his back. Ash mixed with lead and fat was used to draw the shape of the markings; an elegant bow that would span his shoulders, a drawn arrow inside that would climb up his spine, and loose arrows falling down the back of his arms. It was an intricate piece that reflected his vallaslin and his role as a tool of Andruil's. It would take hours to complete. Elain vowed to stay for the entirety of it.

Once the outline was done, Paeris reached for the obsidian blade on the table next to the cot. With a quick burst of magical flame, he heated the blade to clean it.

“We do this to prevent disease, Sar'een,” he said as the younger mage watched on, “Tiny pieces of dirt and debris embedded in the obsidian can make the wound fester. The cleansing magical flame burns away all debris. We use an obsidian blade because though it is brittle, the sharpness allows for the cleanest lines when carving.”

His explanation was methodical and precise, as was the first cut he made. The blade traced around the tip of the drawn arrow, sinking into his skin, drawing blood as it went. Revas closed his eyes and held his breath to prevent his back from moving as Paeris made the incision. Elain tried not to focus on his face as it did. Her fingers pressed into the onyx halla tightly.

Once the piece had been carved, Pareis handed Sar'een the obsidian blade and picked up a small pair of metal clamps and a sharp, flat steel knife. He pulled a wooden bowl closer to the edge of the table as well.

“Purify the obsidian with your magic while I lift the piece of skin,” he instructed her, “I use a flat knife such as this because it is easier to pull back the flesh with. A flat knife will get closer to the skin still attached, making the incision less textured as it heals.”

Sar'een nodded her understanding, thought her face began to lose color, and prepared the obsidian with a burst of flame. With the small metal clamps, Paeris pinched the center of the arrow tip, pulling the cut flesh away from Revas' body. Once it was lifted just so, he slid the flat knife under and sawed through, gently pulling the piece of flesh as it slowly unattached from his back. Revas winced, his nostrils flaring, but still made no noise. Once the piece was completely removed, Paeris set it in the waiting bowl.

“We're keeping the pieces to burn afterwards,” he prattled on, “The ashes from the offering will be used in the ink for when the Maiden receives her branding. It is symbolic of the sacrifice of the Banal'ras, tying them to the hares that will mark the Maiden as Andruil's own. That is much simpler; just the standard vallislin process on a different part of the body.”

He worked in small pieces, pausing to explain methods to the increasingly frightened Sar'een, never once acknowledging that a large group of people were watching him. As each portion of flesh was removed and set aside, members of the crowd began to leave. Even the hardest of stomachs would churn at the sight of a strong hunter being flayed while still alive, and no one would be looked down on for not wanting to witness it.

Eventually all the smaller work was done and Paeris had to move onto the larger pieces; the drawn bow, the shaft of the arrows. Each slice was long, slow, and obviously painful. Though Revas did not make a noise, his battle was clear on his face. His teeth were clenched, his eyes shut tightly, and his mouth grimacing in his pain. Elain found it difficult to watch him suffer, her own face burning and pulse pounding in her ears.

She was not the only one struggling. Den frowned and winced with every cut, Deshanna tapped her foot nervously, Sar'een's face became ashen and distraught, and silent tears flowed down Sohta's face. Several hunters had left as well, unable to stomach the sight of their friend and tormentor being marked when the larger cuts were being made.

As Paeris went to pull and saw at the largest piece of flesh of the drawn bow, his voice still disattached and clinical, Revas began to lose his control. Afraid of crying out and ruining the rite, he put the wooden block he had been clutching in his fist into his mouth. His breath came fast and gasping and she heard it through the bit. She could see his teeth pushing into the leather and his face flushing dark red. Bile climbed at the back of her throat and guilt ate away at her heart.

It endured for hours. Few were left watching by the end of the rite. Even Old Bida had taken her leave, muttering about not wanting to remember this before she died. When the final piece of flesh was at last removed and placed carefully into the bowl for her own ceremony, Elain felt as though she had inflicted the wounds herself.

–

Sleep was difficult again that evening. Elain had avoided the joyful eating and drinking around camp as the clan celebrated having a new Banal’ras. She couldn’t feel joy while the Banal’ras himself was unable to. She stared at the ceiling of her yurt for what felt like hours, listening to the laughter and singing of the hunters, admonishing herself for being so weak. It was always Revas’ choice. His decision. She shouldn’t let it affect her so deeply.

And yet, it did.

Knowing sleep wouldn’t come, she decided to roam the campgrounds instead. She wrapped a light shawl over herself and left the comfort of her yurt. There was singing everywhere; songs about love, about loss, about being brave, about being bold. The songs were loud and vibrant, ringing across the marshlands, voices carried through the winds and to the gods. It unnerved her.

She knew it was guilt that ate away at her, and she knew it was guilt that prevented her from going to see him now. It was Autini all over again for her. The shock of his pain sank into her, making her afraid. Seeing him meant that it had been real, and that he had endured something on her behalf. At least with Autini, she could convince herself that it was noble, something he could be proud of. Him falling under an axe bravely to save her life. This mutilation was merely an echo of vanity from a culture long dead that her people tried so hard to resurrect. Perhaps resurrecting it wasn't worth this.

She huffed out a small breath as she meandered around camp, avoiding engaging with the revelry. _You're being stupid Elain,_ she chastised herself. _This is how it has always been. Revas wanted this. You're guilt doesn't change that._ She sighed deeply and rubbed her temples, trying to convince herself that not every choice is hers to make. It was always the hardest thing for her to understand. 

Hearing him say it was his choice would help. At least, she hoped it would. Swallowing her pride, she made her way to his pavilion where he would be resting for several days while his healing was monitored. She hoped that the hour of the night meant that no one would be coming in and out of his quarters and she could speak with him alone. 

She found Sar'een sitting on a small stool outside his pavilion as she approached. The mage was cursing  under her breath and rocking back and forth while cradling her face in her hands. 

“Sar'een?” she tried to get her attention.

She looked up at Elain, and there was a long gash going from the side of her nose down over her mouth. It was very fresh, and she recognized Paeris' work with the stitching that closed the garish wound. “Sar'een, what happened?”

“Paeris was changing Revas' dressing. I was trying to ask him questions, since I have to learn,” she looked down at the ground as she spoke, her voice expressionless, “Revas got annoyed with all the talking and threw a lantern. It bounced off the wooden anchor holding the fire vent open and hit me.”

“I'm sure he didn't mean to...” Elain started.

“Yeah, sure. He didn't mean to. So it's okay right?” Sar'een stood up and started to pace back and forth, “Since he didn't throw it at my face, it was an accident, and everyone understands. But no one cares about him calling me a 'whimpering idiot' or 'a useless child'. Because he's not hurting anyone right? Stupid little Sar'een doesn't get hurt.”

Elain tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow. She stopped her pacing abruptly, and looked Elain in the eyes. 

“Just forget it,” she started, her face turning red, “It's just Revas being Revas. That's what Paeris said. Now I have to stay here all night to take care of him so I can learn.” She gave a short laugh, but there was no joy in it. “Yeah, I'm learning alright.”

Elain let out a deep sigh and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. “Look, I know he's hard to deal with. Just let me handle him tonight. You can take over tomorrow once he's feeling a little better. It'll be easier then.”

“Good. I've had enough of him,” Sar'een didn't argue, didn't try to dissuade her. She picked up her books lying next to the stool and began to walk away. Pausing momentarily, she turned her head towards Elain.

“You know...I used to like him. Really like him. All I wanted was him to notice me and look at me as more than just some little girl fumbling with magic. Maybe look at me like how he looked at you during his oaths. But I'm not you, am I? I can't command respect by just breathing. I have to work for it,” she pulled her books closer to her chest, “So I will. I'll work everyday until I'm Keeper to earn the respect I deserve. When Revas finally notices me, it'll be because I will spend my time as Keeper making sure he knows how little I care for him. And when he sees this scar that I'm going to have on my face, he'll know it's nobody's fault but his own.”

S he stalked away without saying another word, and Elain stood for several minutes reflecting on her sudden outburst. She wanted to lecture Revas, to remind him that he can't burn bridges, but she knew it was pointless. She also knew that she was just as guilty in thinking of Sar'een as a little girl fumbling.  It had been unfair to her.  I n truth, it was Elain who was the little girl, frightened and fumbling, desperate to feel safe.

As she stood there feeling sorry for herself when it was Sar'een and Revas who deserved the pity, she realized she was trying to delay the inevitable. Not wanting to waste any more time, she pushed back the entrance to Revas' small pavilion and entered. The lights in the room were dim, but not diminished, and he laid face down on his cot. His breathing was measured and soft, and she thought he might be sleeping. She stepped forward.

“I told you not to come in here, Sar'een. Can't you listen to one fucking word anyone says?” his voice was strained, his pain apparent. She wanted to be angry at his lack of patience, but the seemingly endless deep incisions on his back were clear in the light. The admonishments died in her lungs. 

“You didn't tell me not to come here,” she strode towards him carefully, “But I can leave if you want.”

He lifted his head and turned it towards her. His eyes were sunken and washed in purple, exhaustion written on him clearly. “ Elain ...”

She now stood next to his cot, her bare legs at his eye level, “ I don't know if it's safe for me to stay, honestly. I hear you've been raging like a beast.”

“I'm in pain. I was ripped open today. Can you blame me for not wanting to be poked and prodded by some whimpering little child?” he asked with irritation. 

“A hunter is a master of his suffering,” she said gently. She noticed his hair lying loose over parts of his markings. Loosening a leather strip weaved into one of her braids, she bent over and pulled his hair back, tying it with the strip. He sighed as she did so, closing his eyes. 

“Is the Maiden expected to master her suffering? Is that why she's here? To assure herself that I'm safe and alive so she can sleep?” 

“Perhaps,” was her answer. She was suddenly embarrassed for her guilt and her need for him to alleviate it. It was childish and indicative of everything they were. It would always be her feeling guilt, always her questioning, always her trying to control what they were and then her expecting him to make it better when she couldn't handle her own conscience.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come.”

His hand reached towards hers and grabbed her fingers. He didn't grip them hard, but rather just rested his own on hers. “Please stay.”

She paused for a heartbeat, knowing she should walk away, should end this like she should  ha ve done years ago. But her guilt wasn't as strong as the way he looked up at her as if she was the only thing that mattered to him in the entire world. She nodded and crawled onto the head of the cot, while he lifted his head so he could lay it back down on her lap. 

Once they were settled, she ran fingers over his scalp gently, and listened to his soft  breathing.

“Are we going to play this game forever, El?” he asked her after a while.

“What game?” she responded innocently, her fingertips now tracing his vallaslin. 

“The one where you tell me your duty and traditions are so important and that we can't be together like this,” he murmured. 

“Oh? The one where you tell me that I take my role too seriously and ask me to forget that I will devote my life to Andruil and make oaths to Her that specifically say that I will reject a lover and family?”

“It's an outdated tradition that doesn't do anything to further the Dalish or Andruil,” he argued. She simply sighed and let the rebuttals linger on her tongue. She didn't want to fight, and she knew that in his heart, Revas didn't either. Her fingers ran over his chin, and he caught them and brought them to his mouth. He kissed them softly before pulling her hand to his chest.

“You're everything to me,” he said quietly, “I just don't want to lose this.”

She leaned down and kissed him lightly on his cheek. “I told you that I love you more than I fear breaking my oaths. Isn't that enough?”

He didn't respond, but squeezed her hand in his. She looked over his shoulders and felt her insides twist at the sight of his carved flesh. Unshed tears burned her eyes.

“I will never stop feeling guilty for what I've done to you. I will never stop trying to push you to find something better. But my heart is yours, Revas. It's beyond my will to end this anymore. I leave the decision up to you,” she whispered to him, her voice breaking slightly.

Something in what she said made him try to sit up. It obviously pained him, and she protested his moving, trying to get him to stay still. But it was always hard getting Revas to do what was good for him. He pushed himself up with his arms and groaned at the effort, but managed to get into a sitting position. His legs were set on each side of his cot, and he grabbed her, pulling her towards him. He leaned into her, pressing his forehead with hers, cupping her jaw with his hands.

“If you leave it up to me, I will always choose you, Peach,” he said before kissing her. She returned the kiss, comforted by his warm lips and hands, letting his words and mouth soothe the unseen wounds inside of her.

“I'll try not to make you regret it,” she vowed.

It would be a fight they would always have. As long as she was Maiden and he was her Shadow, her guilt would always eat away at her and his resentment would gnaw at him. She knew this; as did he. But in moments like these, when they allowed their hearts to overcome their minds, it made it all seem worthwhile.

 

  


 

  


  


  



	10. Keeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Dor'len" means "gray child" in Elvhen. I think. Take that with a grain of salt.

The soft light of morning crept into Revas' pavilion far too early for Elain's liking. It fell through the curtained entrance directly on her face, drawing her out of the little sleep she had. The night had been long. The incisions from the ceremony had to be cleaned thoroughly and often, and since she had sent Sar'een away, Elain was tasked with making sure Revas received the care. They had finally dozed off just before dawn, her sitting propped up with blankets and pillows and his head lying on her stomach.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes slowly, trying to avoid waking Revas, but a hunter is trained to sense every movement, even in exhaustion. He groaned as he moved unconsciously and felt the pain of the day before anew. Her hand went to his head immediately, stroking his hair gently.

“Shhh, try not to shift around so much. It only makes it worse,” she told him softly. He shook his head and lifted the thin undershirt covering her torso slightly, kissing the taut skin underneath.

“You're making it hard not to,” he mumbled into her as his mouth explored. She tugged on his hair, and he retaliated by nipping at her stomach, making her giggle.

Their playing was interrupted when they heard approaching footsteps. Elain sighed, sat up and straightened herself while Revas laid his head back down on the cot. The curtain parted and Paeris entered the small pavilion, his healing materials in tow. He stopped in surprise when he saw her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Elain suspiciously. She stood up and crossed her arms.

“You tried to make Sar'een take care of Revas after she got hurt. I told her to take the night off and did it myself since no one else can seem to treat him like anything more than an animal,” she scolded her brother, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Maybe if he didn't act like one...or did Sar'een not tell you _how_ she got hurt?” he suggested as he walked towards his patient's cot. Revas snorted into his coverings.

“It was an accident,” Elain argued, “She had no business handling this. A _Keeper_ would know that.”

“A Keeper understands that the First must know how to deal with even the most obstinate clan members,” he responded coolly, looking down now on Revas' back, “And a Keeper understands that sometimes we must work through the pain.”

She grabbed his arm roughly, “You didn't tell me.”

“Sar'een!” he yelled as he looked at her, his eyes flashing a warning. The younger mage peeked through the curtained entrance, her face bruised and swollen from her run in with Revas' temper the night before. “Come here.”

She obeyed him, meekly at first, but when she realized Elain was there as well, she straightened her shoulders and walked with her chin held high.

“Yes, hahren?” she waited for his instruction, her eyes darting between the two siblings.

“Look at the incisions. There is some swelling and pulling around the larger ones, but luckily no discoloration or discharge that would suggest an imbalance of humors. The cuts are kept clean and uncovered for the first day, but now they must be packed with linen soaked in honey water and an elfroot elixir, then wrapped tightly. The linen must be changed every few hours and the healing monitored closely,” he rattled off a lesson to the younger mage, handing her pieces of linen and an earthenware jar holding the healing concoction.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” Elain whispered harshly to Paeris as he watched Sar'een place the linen in the earthenware jar.

“Revas, how does it feel this morning? Still the sharp pain or more stiffness?” he was ignoring her, focusing on his duties instead of listening to what she had to say.

“Less sharp, more stiff, still can't move without it feeling like my skin is ripping apart,” Revas answered sleepily, unconcerned with Elain and Paeris' disagreement.

“Good. It'll be some time before the stiffness and pain subside, but the linen wrapping will help. Each day will be easier,” Paeris explained, his voice calm. Elain silently fumed at him, knowing he was trying to upset her on purpose.

“You didn't tell me Paeris,” she said between gritted teeth, “You had no right...”

He turned suddenly and faced her, “No right? Must I get your permission to make decisions about my life from now on?”

“It would be nice if you just told me what was even going on in your life! I'm your sister, I should have been the first to know!” she raised her voice in frustration and anger at him.

 “You were busy learning how to pretend to be more important than you actually are in the mountains, or else you might have found out sooner,” he spat back. Her jaw dropped.

 Revas let out a low whistle and Sar'een's eyes went wide in shock.

“How dare you undermine a _sacred rite_ blessed by Andruil Herself! You of all people! Aren't _Keepers_ suppose to preserve history and traditions? You are just jealous because no matter how hard you work, _you'll always be second to me!”_ Elain gestured wildly as she yelled at him, her composure completely lost.

 Paeris grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her towards the pavilion entrance.

 “You want to talk? Fine, let's talk,” he said, his temper barely in check, “Sar'een; do as I told you. Pack the wounds, then wrap. I'll check on him later.”

“But Paeris, I don't want to be alone with--” Sar'een started.

 “Revas, if I hear one word of Sar'een being hurt in any way, I'll have your hair shaved off and your armor burned. Do you understand?” Paeris threatened him.

 “Promises, promises,” he replied then sighed heavily, “Okay Dor'len, let's get this over with.”

 The younger mage pursed her swollen lips and began pulling linen strips from the jug and placing them carefully in the incisions. Paeris nodded approvingly, and walked out of the pavilion, pulling Elain with him.

 

–

 When they arrived in Paeris' large yurt, he slammed the wicker hanging over the entrance shut and walked to his perfectly made cot to sit down. Elain kicked over a small stool next to his immaculate desk in her own anger, attempting to get a rise out of her eternally collected brother.

 “Enough!” he whispered harshly, “Acting like a child does not suit you.”

 She lifted herself up and sat on his desk, not caring that she scattered some of his books and writing implements. He frowned at her, displeased with her lack of respect, no doubt.

“I'll act however I want to, Paeris,” she said haughtily, “You are not my leader, not my superior. And it's plain that you think of me as a child anyways, so what does it matter?”

He leaned his elbows onto his knees, staring at her in disbelief, “You are such a selfish, spoiled little brat. I almost look forward to leaving all this and letting you rot here in your delusions.”

 “The hunters follow my word as law. Deshanna heeds my advice. The members of Council defer to me on all things involved with the hunters now. What delusion am I living in exactly?” she challenged him.

“That any of that matters,” he stated bluntly. He rested his chin on his now clenched together hands, glaring at her, encouraging her to answer. As much as she wanted to be silent and let him fester in his superiority complex, she could not resist. 

“I hold more power in this clan than you, or even father,” she spoke quietly, words meant for only him to hear, “If I were to give the command, you would stay here despite your intentions to go the Diceni. Remember that as you continue to try to 'protect' me with all these secrets.”

His hands unclenched and he leaned back onto his cot. And then he laughed. It was loud and full, and obviously mocking her. She felt the tips of her ears burning in renewed anger and she ground her teeth together. It was as if she was a child all over again, asking her brother questions about casting spells and him laughing at her precociousness and inability to understand why she couldn't do magic. His laughter at her then was warm though. It used to wrap around her like a blanket, making her feel safe and loved. This laughter was not even an echo of that.

“You truly believe this is about you, don't you?” he asked her, his laughter subsiding.

“What else would it be about? Why else would you hide this from me?” she shot back at him tartly, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

“Believe it or not Maiden, this clan – this world even – does not revolve around you and your whims,” he explained to her, unable to resist more patronizing, “No matter how much Revas and father may make it seem so.”

“So Revas and father stopped you from telling me then?” she askedincredulously. He was being infuriatingly vague, and she didn't want to play his game.

“I didn't tell you because it slipped my mind,” he smiled wide at her, “You were gone so long, I didn't stop to think about it when you returned. There were more important matters to worry about.”

“Like scheming with Old Bida to get Revas to compete as Banal'ras,” she accused him, “You even failed in that. Father's fumbling did more for that cause than anyone else.”

His smile spread wider, stretching across his face and distorting his features in the morning light. He looked like a wolf grinning before devouring a meal.

“Who do you think pushed father to have Revas moved?”

Her skin went cold. There was something in his tone that was menacing, something that turned her blood to ice.

“What?”

“Father would never have Revas exiled. I had to convince him that moving him would be a good idea, or else he would've just been content to let him run wild.Vhannas is too soft when it comes to you. Anything that may hurt his Little One is not worth the risk, he would say. Anything to keep you happy,” he said bitterly.

“You...you tried to have Revas moved?” she asked, unable to process what he was saying.

“Yes,” he stood up and began to pace the floor. 

“It's imperative that the Dalish clans become stronger. The world is changing constantly and we are being lost to the ages. I reached out to Warlord Threlen months before your last trial, discussing with him the future of the clans. He is very interested in the future, you see,“ he paused momentarily to look at her, then continued, “It was serendipitous that Ma'sala died so suddenly, and I certainly didn't question it. It was an opportunity. As soon as I received the word that Threlen wanted me as Keeper, I started to plan ahead. What kind of clan was I leaving? One guided by a spineless Keeper, a guileless Council, and a Warlord more interested in drinking and womanizing than building a disciplined militia of hunters.”

“Then why send Revas away? He was on the path to be Den's Second. He would've taken over a most of Den's duties,” she protested.

“I wanted him gone because I needed you weakened and the Silures strengthened. With Lavellan faltering and a vengeful Revas leading raids against the clan, it would be easier for them to be integrated into Clan Diceni. As we are now, there is too much pride by half for that to happen. But father's fumbling ruined the chance to turn Revas. He was supposed to work with Warlord Miran to get the Council on his side, and instead he had the information slipped to Sorn and given to Revas. Then Revas had enough time to get the hunters on behind him and the vote swung his way instead. Vhannas has gotten weak in his old age.”

“So how did Old Bida get involved in all this?” she felt her guts turning and bubbling, as if she had just eaten something rotten.

“Bida was eager to uplift Revas as your Shadow. She likes him for some reason,” he smiled lightly, “There was never any question of her supporting him. I used that to my advantage. Since moving him was no longer an option, dissent had to be spread a different way. There was no doubt he would win the title of Banal'ras. Despite his bluster, his skill is unprecedented. So I arranged a betrothal suggestion between Kellen's youngest daughter, Nesta, and Revas. It was a good political match and Kellen was open to the idea. I told him nothing could be done unless Revas was neutered though. As Second to the War Lord, he'd be too dangerous. As Banal'ras, even more dangerous. Kellen is a coward and believed every word, so he worked hard to get Revas discredited and seen as a threat as well. He spreads the dissent, and his daughter gains a husband who, with time and patience, would mellow and make a fine lead hunter or even War Lord.”

She swallowed hard, her head spinning. “What makes you think Revas would have agreed to that?”

“He wouldn't,” he stated, stopping his pacing. He leaned against the table she sat on, folding his arms over each other and looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“I know he is hopelessly in love with you and no amount of bribing will turn him. And I know that if you had found out about the suggestion, you would've had Nesta sent to some small, isolated clan in Antiva. I doubt your jealousy would have allowed your lover to be married off.”

The room seems to be shrinking around her, robbing her of her breath. Her entire chest burned and her face broke out in a cold sweat. She had no idea. She did not even suspect.

“How did you know?” she managed to croak out.

“Do not worry, Elain. I only knew because I happened to see you both returning to camp in the middle of the night, half dressed. I grew suspicious and began to watch you two closely. From there, it was easy to discover the truth,” his voice softened in concern, “No one else knows, save Bida. But that's because she's more observant than she lets on. I honestly do not care. I think the Maiden's oaths are uncompromising for a changing world. Though, I do believe you need to be more careful. Finding you sitting on his cot this morning was not subtle.”

Her cheeks burned red at the revelation, but she pressed on, “If you knew, then why suggest a betrothal?”

He shook his head at her.

“Weren't you listening? I need dissension within the clan. I need in-fighting and disruptions at Council. I need you weaker than you would be with a Council in agreement. Kellen will know by now that Revas has no intention of marrying his daughter, and will forever work against him. Aricia is his wife and will follow his lead. And Deanna hates Revas' mother enough to lay obstacles in his path as well.”

“All this so we can be absorbed into Diceni,” she sighed, her temples throbbing from the dawning realizations.

He shrugged, “No, not absorbed really. Though I want the clans to be united, I don't want to diminish each one's traditions. A united Lavellan and Diceni means a huge step in uniting all the clans together. It's what we need. We cannot face this world alone much longer.”

“You know I will prevent you from doing this,” she almost whispered, suddenly quite wary of her brother, “We cannot give up our freedom for the sake of keeping up with a world we are not part of.”

“Not part of? Do I need to remind you of Autini? Of the raids in the spring? Of the constant movement for fear of human interlopers? We are victims of this world, ground under the boot of shemlen. With the clans united, we can start fighting back.”

Her hands trembled as she took it all in, “You want war.”

“Not war. An uprising. War can only be fought between two nations. The Dalish are a scattering of nomadic militias, barely armed for more than guerrilla warfare,” he said with authority, his conviction frightening, “But that's getting far ahead of myself. Without the clans united, there is nothing, and it may take a couple of lifetimes for that to happen. I will just be satisfied with taking the first steps toward progress.”

She sat motionless, staring ahead and beyond the pavilion, into the future Paeris was describing. All she saw was blood.

He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him. “I know you don't understand now, but you will in time.”

“Why tell me all of this, Paeris? This is insane.”

He let out a deep sigh. “I'm telling you this because you are living in the past, within a small box of beliefs and petty plotting. I know you're capable of a much higher understanding. You are traditional and pious to the rest of the clan, but I know that you question. How could you not? You are having an affair knowing that you will be taking oaths of celibacy. I'm sharing this so that you can reflect. You can sit on this information, think on it, go over every detail in the years to come as the Mantle of the Maiden gets to be a heavier and heavier burden. I know you will not share it with anyone else. I have kept your secrets, and you will keep mine.”

“I don't like this,” she felt her lower lip quiver, and she willed herself control it, “I don't like seeing this side of you, Paeris.”

“Oh Little One,” he said as he stroked her hair, “You have always underestimated me. Why does it surprise you that I can match your maneuvering? Aren't we both Vhannas' children?”

“Yes,” she said, “but I always thought you were the protective one. The one trying to stop things from hurting our clan. I don't know if your plan does that. 

“If the pieces fall into place, the clan will be protected,” he said gently, “More than it is now. Just think on it, Elain. Let it roam into your mind once in a while in the moments when you aren't commanding Lavellan like some noble at court.”

She laughed lightly at the small joke, “I'll try.”

“Good,” he smiled at her, this one warm and comforting, more familiar, “I'm sorry for offending you earlier. The time you spent in isolation isn't something to be taken lightly, even if I do believe the role of the Maiden of the Hunt is a relic that would be better abandoned. You are strong, El. Stronger than I gave you credit for. If it was just you leading the clan, I would have no issue leaving it behind knowing that the future for it would be bright. But there is still Deshanna, our father, and the rest of Council to contend with.”

“I will smooth over the dissension you caused,” she told him, “You must realize that.”

“Good luck. I chose Kellen for a reason. He is a coward but can hold a grudge for longer than anyone I know. He will cause trouble for you, don't overlook that,” he lectured her.

She stared at her feet in silence, contemplating. A thought struck her.

“What about Sar'een? You can't possibly think she'll be a good Keeper. You kept her sheltered on purpose, didn't you?”

His face darkened, and his smile faltered. “No. I made a mistake with her early in her training, but sheltering her wasn't to prevent her from being a good Keeper. It was to elevate her, to shape her into the kind of woman who would make an excellent Keeper. One who understood tradition, but also understood that tradition could only lead you so far.”

“And now you leave her to handle elves like Revas while you play the revolutionary,” she said caustically.

He chewed on his lip thoughtfully, then looked at her with pleading eyes, “Please help her while I'm gone. The seeds are planted, but she will need to be challenged. It would hurt me to see her potential wasted.”

Elain lowered herself off his desk, and stretched her now stiff limbs. “I will do my best, but I think she'll grow just fine without my interference. Last night, I saw that she has a lot more depth and determination than I originally thought. Whether or not that makes a good Keeper is another story.”

His eyes shone with pride. “It will.”

She didn't want to speak to him any further, scared of what she might say. Elain walked out of his pavilion without saying goodby, without acknowledging his concealed fear over Sar'een. She merely wanted to breath clean air. The warmth and comfort her brother had always provided was now suffocating her. He had blindsided her and left her feeling vulnerable. As she walked through the bustling camp, she realized that every move made since she had returned from the mountains had been orchestrated by him. None of what she did had not been influenced by his politicking.

There was no more room for mistakes. No more room for misplaced assumptions. No more room for hubris. Paeris had upped the stakes, and she had no choice but to rise to meet them. 

–

 

That afternoon, she hunted. The fowl in the marshlands were plentiful and stupid, making for easy game, but she needed something to center her thoughts. She was doing what Paeris wanted; reflecting on his ideas, his plans, rolling over every detail he provided, both the spoken and unspoken ones. His ambition was far greater than she had realized, but what bothered her the most was how much it made sense to her. Had she been less traditional, less devoted to the Goddess, she may have come up with it on her own.

What surprised her even more was how much she wanted it, how much she could taste it. Not for an amalgamation of mismatched clans like Paeris dreamed of, but a truly united nation. One where the laws and regulations were governed by a benevolent leader, a wise leader. No more weak-willed Councils and ineffective Keepers. None of the nepotism and favoritism that ran rampant in the Dales and now in the clans. No more uplifting mages to leadership roles who were unworthy. A society strong enough to withstand another Exalted March, and win.

A gray pheasant fell to her lazy arrow, feathers and blood dropping from the sky. She picked it up and tied it to her rope holding the other kills from the day. The coppery smell of the carcass clung to her nostrils, and she envisioned the fields of battle running red with shemlen blood and a powerful Elvhen army marching over them. It hung to her mind's eye, like a ripe piece of fruit dangling from a tree. No longer hunters, but soldiers, cutting across Thedas, taking back what was stolen from her people.

And at the head of the army, the Maiden leading them with the Andruil's Golden Spear in hand.


	11. Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of her journey draws near, and Elain prepares to receive what she has earned.

_On the first day of Andruil's Holy Week, the Maiden apparent presides over the Feast of the Forest. In Her sacred grounds, the Maiden hosts gathered patrons of the Goddess, feeding them from the gifts of Her hunt. She and her hunters must make sure every piece of the prey killed for the Feast is consumed, whether through sustenance or application. Meat is eaten, fur pelts are gifted to visiting emissaries from other clans, and teeth are used for jewelry and adding flourishes to clothing. Bones are broken open and given to the hunters to suck out the soft marrow then ground into meal to supplement the halla herd's diet. The only thing remaining after the Feast is the eyes, which are burned as an offering to the Lady of the Hunt._

_On the second day, the Maiden apparent is ritually cleansed in Andruil's Cove, a natural formation near the dilapidated shrine of the Goddess. The waters there are warm all year round and are forbidden to the uninitiated, with surrounded magical wards to prevent curious onlookers. The Maiden bathes alone all day, ridding herself of her previous life, so she may be dedicated to the Goddess with no burdens._

_On the third day, the Maiden apparent leads the huntresses in a dance dedicated to the Sister of the Moon in front of the late summer bonfire. They cover their bodies in gold dust and ornate jewelry kept from the time of the Dales, and they perform distracting flourishes for the rest of the clan. The huntresses jump and twirl around the Maiden, while she rocks her hips in time to the heartbeat rhythm of the large drums, bending and twisting her torso with languid, slow movements, imitating the entropy of death._

_On the fourth day, the Maiden apparent is given blood writing with the symbol of Andruil in Her role as Mother of Hares. The ashes of the sacrifice from the Banal'ras are mixed with the ink, and the delicate depictions of hares in the traditional Dalish style are pounded into her spine to mark her as Andruil's own. This is done in front of all the hunters and huntresses, so they may witness their Maiden apparent serving the Goddess._

_On the fifth and last day, the Maiden apparent will take her oaths, and be dedicated to the Goddess Herself in Her shrine. Once she has been dedicated, her person is holy, and she is able to walk inside the inner sanctum, where she may commune with Andruil. Once she returns, she is announced officially as Maiden of the Hunt and adorned with the Mantle._

 

_“_ The Rites of the Maiden _” as recorded by Keeper Paeris_

 

\--

 

The week had gone by in a blur to Elain. She sat in the makeshift pavilion set up outside of the old shrine dedicated to Andruil, preparing herself for her final day. The first day was arduous yet successful, with not a single drop of blood going to waste. The cleansing on the second day was relaxing after the feast, and the dancing of the third day was enjoyable. She reflected on the night after the dancing with a smile as she braided her hair, remembering Revas throwing her over his shoulder after her performance and carrying her to a secluded spot in the thick forest to show his appreciation for the Maiden's efforts. She had been very pleased with his supplication. 

It was the day before that was the hardest. She spent hours face down on a hard cot in the antechamber of the shrine to Andruil, her hunters gathered around her, all talking about the great game in these parts of the woods or how warm it was or who was betrothed to who for the late season. Little, petty things. All the while, her brother pressed the sharpened bone needle dipped in ink into her spine over and over again as the ever present Sar’een watched and asked innocuous questions. It certainly wasn’t the quiet, solemn occasion that Revas’ marking ceremony had been, and she resented Paeris for allowing such a light mood pervade such an important occasion for her. 

Elain had barely spoken with her brother since he revealed his machinations weeks ago in the early summer. She didn't trust him anymore, and she grew paranoid that every word she said would be used against her somehow. It was all too clear now that he would push her down in order to achieve his goals. She had to be smarter than him, faster than him, and more flexible if she wanted to stay on top; especially once he moved to the Diceni Clan. They were not a clan to be taken lightly, and she did not want to make an enemy of War Lord Threlen. If only there were some thing she could use to gain back the upper hand… 

“Elain?” a quiet voice called from outside her tent.

She was drawn back into the present, 'Come in, Sar'een.” 

Sar’een. Elain was suddenly hit with a realization _. Sar’een_. She was her brother’s apprentice and his protectiveness over her bordered on obsessive. If she could utilize Sar’een, get her on her side, she’d have some power over Paeris.

She watched carefully as the young mage walked up to her, holding two small wooden bowls in her hand. She looked around the area, eyes darting back and forth, always trying to take in things as fast as she could. What she saw was Elain's unmade cot, a small stool she sat on, and a folding table with a hand mirror and her accoutrements. It certainly wasn't as lavish as Elain's yurt back at camp, but it was only for Holy Week.

“I brought the balm for your vallaslin. I also have the paint you asked for,” Sar'een passed Elain the smaller of the two bowls, “Be careful not to get any on your clothing. It will stain and never come out.”

Elain smiled at her sweetly, “Thank you Sar'een, but it won't be a problem; trust me.”

She untied the cords holding her robes shut, and let the clothing fall off her shoulders and pool at her waist. Then, pulling her long hair over her shoulder, she allowed the mage access to her exposed back. Sar'een dipped her fingers into the other bowl and spread the cooling balm over the raw tattoos of hares that now crawled up her spine. 

“Paeris wanted me to apologize on his behalf for not checking on you himself, but he's helping Deshanna prepare for the ceremony,” the mage said.

“I understand. I expect no less of him,” Elain responded, thinking quickly to put the girl at ease, “Honestly, I prefer it this way. You’re much gentler than he is.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft and her cheeks blushing a fetching pink, “But I’m only doing it so I can learn. I have to be able to do this without Paeris. I need to do this on my own.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t need him,” Elain said as she twined a cord of leather through her hair.

“No, of course not,” she quickly replied, massaging the balm into the base of Elain's back, “I just…”

She sighed deeply and dipped her fingers back into the bowl, bringing more of the salve to her upper back. Its medicinal smell filled the air, making Elain's nose twitch.

“I'm just going to miss him when he's gone,” the mage said wistfully, “He's the only mentor I've ever known. Deshanna is very lax when it comes to training, and I will never learn as much from her." 

Elain clenched her jaw reflexively at the girl's confession. This would be far too easy once Paeris was out of the picture. 

“You need to be more careful about what you say and who you are making these statements to. I am a full member of the Council after today, just as Deshanna is, and making idle gossip with me may hurt you.”

Sar'een's hands stilled on her back.

“I..I'm sorry. I was thoughtless. Of course Deshanna will train me well. She trained Paeris after all, and he will be a great Keeper,” her words came out fast and placating, a sign of submission.

“It's all right, Sar'een,” she assured her, stringing beads into a new section of her hair, “Paeris has kept you from the more practical lessons of political maneuvering within the clan. You must figure out soon who you can trust, and who you cannot. A secret between allies is a powerful tool, but one between enemies is even more powerful.”

She began massaging Elain's back again, more forceful this time, her nervousness bleeding through. 

“Can I trust you, Maiden?” she asked quietly.

Elain’s lips curved into an involuntary smile. The perfect tool just fell on her lap like a gift from Andruil herself. She felt like she could kiss the girl for her unrealized potential.  

“I’d like to believe so, Sar’een. Didn’t I have my father and brother speak for you in Council when Clan Sabrae requested you to transfer there? Haven’t I always defended you against Revas and Sorn when they picked on you? Wasn’t I the one who pushed Deshanna to agree for you to get your vallaslin earlier than your parents wanted to allow? I have always been on your side, Sar’een. You are smarter than many give you credit for, but Paeris has done you a disservice by not teaching you how to weed out who can be trusted and who cannot.”

Sar'een pulled away from her back, finished with the ministrations. Her skin tingled from the rough kneading and the salve.

“Perhaps. He taught me many things, but some things I had to learn on my own too. Like how people are more willing to talk down to you if they think you’re stupid. Or how you can’t really change anyone. And how putting your faith into the hearts of men can destroy you,” her words were bitter. Elain recognized that bitterness. It was yet another gift to be exploited.

She reached for a cup of wine she had on her table, and turned to hand it to the younger girl.

“Here. Have a drink,” she encouraged her, placing the cup in her hand, “Your understanding of the inner workings of men's hearts was hard won, it seems.”

She took the cup and drank deeply, “You could say that. The disillusionment that came with it was harder to deal with, though.”

“It always is,” Elain nodded, her fingers going back to finish braiding her hair, “Once you accept that the darkness in those hearts can reside in your own as well if you let it, the world becomes much easier to understand.”

“You have that darkness there, don't you?” she drank again, draining the cup then setting it down, “Everyone sees the devoted daughter of Vhannas in you, the golden child, born and bred for great things. But sometimes I see things that are not golden at all. 

Her hands stilled and she brought them to her kneecaps at the words. They had pierced her with an accuracy that caught her off guard. She stared downwards as Sar'een continued.

“When Revas set up that gruesome spectacle after the Dire Hunt, everyone was so nervous. And Paeris was fuming. Defending our clan from unsavory humans is one thing, but displaying our kills like trophies? That would just bring the racist elements out from the Marcher cities. Even Deshanna was anxious over it. But you...I saw you. I saw you look at the display, and I saw you smile. You smiled at rotting shemlen heads impaled and set up for the world to see, as if it were some entertaining story that Kellen was telling in front of the Hearthfire when we were children. That's when I knew that you weren't all gold. There is blackness in your heart too.”

Her lips turned into a thin line and she dug her nails deep into her knees. Her eyes were clouded with visions from her time in the mountains; _succulent, golden blossoms with stamen that dripped black oil, erupting from the maggots writhing on the Black Forest's glass-like floor._

“Don’t judge me, Sar’een. You do not know what I endured to earn this,” Elain rasped out as she tried to clear her mind of the vision. Sar'een walked to her side and gently set a hand on her shoulder, though all Elain could see was the desiccated corpse hand resting there. Her own hands trembled violently, making her puncture her skin on her knees trying to hide it.

“I know. I can’t even imagine being by myself for as long as you were. Even though there is that darkness in your heart, you've always been kind to me. I just wanted you to know that I do trust you, and that you can trust me. When the Mantle becomes too much and you feel that darkness creeping in, I'm here for you.”

The vision started to evaporate like a cloud of smoke in the room, making it seem murky and dark. She willed herself to breath normally, trying not to scare Sar'een. She reached up and patted her hand, now the soft, pale hand from a lifetime of study in the clan instead of that of a corpse.

“I appreciate it, Sar'een. You have become a very intuitive woman. We need more people like that in our clan,” she smiled weakly at her, suddenly exhausted from the intensity of the hallucination.

“Thank you. It means a lot coming from you,” Sar'een smiled back, something Elain rarely saw. Her face had healed since the accident weeks ago, but left a jagged, red scar. It would fade over time, but it unnerved Elain to see such a violent thing mar her petite features. 

“We'll do great things together,” Elain said, “And you will make Paeris very proud.”

Sar'een beamed and it seemed her entire face lit up with joy. She impulsively bent down and hugged Elain. Her body was slight, but warm, and Elain rubbed her back lightly in comfort.

“Go on now,” she broke the hug, “I need to finish getting ready, and you should be observing Paeris and Deshanna. Thank you for all your help.”

The mage nodded warmly, and left the small pavilion, the curtained entrance swishing as she made her way outside. There was no time for her to reflect any more on the vivid visions returning or how she can use Sar’een against Paeris. Elain returned to braiding her hair, but did so with shaking hands. 

–

 

Nightfall was settling over the forest, and Elain had lit the lamps in her pavilion in order to see as she finished her work. The tarnished lanterns cast an eerie hue on her face as she dragged a brush filled with greasepaint across her eyes, from temple to temple. Holding up her hand mirror, she inspected her work. The line was thick and intimidating; a blatant reminder of her authority. She carefully set the mirror back down on the table and reached for the three long owl feathers Revas had found for her. _“For the goddess,”_ he had said. She was certain he wasn't speaking of Andruil.

She secured each feather in the knot of braids that rested on the crown of her head. Thankfully, her hands were no longer shaking. She was calmer now, and the hallucinations seemed to cease once she centered herself and focused on the dedication rather than the various problems eating away at her. The hardest parts of her test were done. Now, she only needed to claim her prize. No half-imagined dreams would deny her this.

Elain looked at herself once more in her mirror, and was pleased with what she saw; a Maiden in her prime, all beauty and grace and most importantly, power. Appearances are always as important as the words, and tonight, she would be saying very few words. She set the mirror down for the last time and stood. It was time.

The voices of her clan singing old songs carried over the cool night wind as she left her tent and made her way down to the shrine. As she walked the dirt-packed path, she realized, though ruined, the shrine was still beautiful in its way. The walls were crumbling but tall with their cascading columns, and decorated with peeling paintings of Elvhen hunters chasing down all manner of prey. All the torches and sconces had been lit, making the shrine glow in the star-lit night. The dark trees surrounding it seemed to frame the shining temple, gnarled old limbs casting their shadows on the beacon in the forest.

She approached the entrance to the shrine and walked into the empty antechamber. It was a medium-sized room with no roof, the wooden tresses long since rotted away. The old braziers were lit and cast an otherworldly gleam on the degraded mosaics on the walls. At one time, the glittering tiles had depicted Andruil, her bow drawn and her eyes flashing. Time eroded away what once was a testament to the artistry of Elvhenan, and now, as with everything from her people’s heritage, all that remained was the memory.

Though the antechamber was empty, the sound of the song coming from inside still filled the air. They were singing a hymn to Andruil, as old as the Dales, and she leaned against the closed cedar doors leading into the great hall inside to listen closer.

 

_Mother of Hares_

_We rejoice at the sound of Thy name_

_Blood and Force_

_Unto Thee we call from darkness_

_Sister of the Moon_

_From whence our sustenance comes_

_Lady of the Hunt_

_Our Goddess above all Gods_

 

Elain hummed along with the old hymn, remembering the words and tune from her youth. She recalled Sohta laying in her small cot with her, a braid of her white-blonde hair held in Elain’s plump hand, stroking her cheek while she sang the song so the Great Huntress would chase away the monsters lurking in the darkness. Her heart swelled with the memory, and she promised herself she would let tonight live in her mind as sweetly as her time in Sohta’s arms.

The singing died down and the crowd inside the main hall began to chatter anxiously, waiting for the guest of honor to make her entrance. She heard broken whispers of _“Has she arrived?”_ and _“I hope she hasn’t lost her nerve.”_

She did not want to keep them waiting any longer.

Her hands moved steadily and untied her robes, letting them drop to the ground. She stood with her jewelry and nothing else; long necklaces made of black seed beads on golden thread cascaded over her chest, meeting her naval. A heavy golden belt hung low on her bare waist, and large hammered cuffs adorned her wrists and ankles. Both the cuffs and the belt were inlaid with black enamel hares, made by her father at her request.  She knew what she wanted the clan to see, what the emissaries would see, what she needed all her peers to see. A woman weighed down in gold in her nakedness, a gift to be placed on the altar of her beloved Goddess. Appearances are always as important as the words.

She opened the great cedar doors leading to the main hall, and the light shining inside from the gilded braziers hit her skin and made it glow as gold as the adornments that weighed down her body. The room went silent as she stood in the entrance. Her lips quirked slightly at the reaction, and she began to make her way slowly down the aisle of the great hall as hundreds of eyes fell on her at once.

The hall itself was long, with a stepped dais at the end before the golden doors that led to the inner sanctum. Trees had begun to reclaim the hall, large branches breaking through the masonry and tangled roots uplifting the floor. The Wilderness had started to reclaim this place, and in a few generations, even the inner sanctum would not be protected from the elements.

A second level balcony overlooked the hall, and many clan members made their way up there to get a better look at the Maiden apparent gliding down the cracked marble floor. They leaned over the cracking foundation, too curious to be afraid of plummeting down when the stone gave way. Straight ahead on the dais, her brother, Sar’een, and Keeper Deshanna stood around a small pedestal that held a large golden bowl. The bowl itself was ornate and beautiful, and made the shrine look as if it weren’t the dilapidated pile of rocks that it was, but a grand cathedral of worship that was fit for the Goddess.

Elain tried to focus on the bowl as she made her way to the dais, but couldn’t stop herself from scanning the crowd. She saw Sohta, standing in a place of honor near the front of the dais with the rest of Council, wet tears falling down her face. She saw her hunters and War Lord Den standing at the front of them as a show of support. Her father sat at the steps of the dais with Old Bida, and on the opposite side, Revas stood at attention, his ceremonial armor bright, and the pelt of his first kill draped proudly across his shoulders. She let her eyes linger on him, only for a heartbeat, but he caught her, and smiled wickedly at her ascent to the dais. Walking up the corridor to the dais didn’t faze her, but seeing him watching her so intently made the tips of her ears burn. She silently chastised her lack of control.

As she climbed up the broken marble steps of the dais, Paeris and Sar’een stepped to the sides of the pedestal. Deshanna stood behind it, pulling the sacrificial knife from her belt. It was a sharp blade, decorated with hares -- as all things associated with Andruil were -- and the hilt was made of polished ironbark inlaid with semi-precious stones. Deshanna handed her the knife with reverent hands, stretching over the golden bowl, the tip of the blade resting on the edge of her fingers. Elain took the knife, turning the hilt in her palms as Deshanna pulled a white hare from the large bowl by the nape of its neck. It struggled, kicking its powerful hind legs, but the Keeper held onto to it tightly. The hare’s beaded black eyes widened in fear at the sight of Elain gripping the knife.

“Ir ghilana mir din'an,” Elain said to the hare as she ran the blade swiftly across its throat. Its body went limp quickly, and the dark blood drained from its delicate neck into the golden bowl.

The blood flowed like wine, unobstructed and dark. It seemed to bubble and churn in the ceremonial bowl, foaming up and steaming slightly as the hot, thick liquid hit the much cooler metal. Elain stared into it, awestruck for a moment, and barely noticed as Deshanna handed the lifeless body of the sacrifice off to one of the hunters. The swirling fluid mesmerized her, and the glinting reflection of the stark moonlight above the shrine shined onto it, making it seem like squirming worms were swimming inside.

_Writhing maggots churning and churning in blood and gold, eating away at the gilded bodies. Segmented and sanguine, gnashing and gnawing. Tiny teeth consume until they reach bone._

She shook her head slightly to stop the vision from taking over, and thankfully, the blood returned to normal. Just a pool of liquid life, sitting peacefully in a bowl. A breath of relief slipped past her lips.

“The dedication has been consecrated by the blood of the Children,” Deshanna started to speak to the crowd, her deep voice carrying up to the higher level, “As the blood of the Children is given to purify the path to the Mother of Hares, so we give our Maiden to purify our clan as we exalt Her.”

With a flick of her hand, Deshanna motioned to the row of musicians sitting at the head of the crowd. They began to play their hand drums, the lead percussionist starting the slow drumming that mimics a heartbeat. He was followed by the rest one by one, giving rise to the sound of the drums throughout the hall.

“As the hare is offered up, so we offer up Elain,” Deshanna continued, “Her blood will become sacred, her person will become holy.”

Taking her cue, Elain turned to face the crowd and kneeled on the ground before the pedestal. The cracked pieces of stone dug into her legs, and she was suddenly quite cold. The faces in the gathering seemed to blur together, a cacophony of curious eyes and dark markings of vallaslin. She felt as if the Creators themselves were watching her with scrutiny, and she tried not to shiver from the chill.

Paeris and Sar’een stepped on either side of her and grasped her by the wrists, pulling her arms out and level with her shoulders. They held her there, waiting for Deshanna to continue. Elain felt cold, exposed, and trapped. _This is mine,_ she told herself. _I earned this._ It did not stop her breath from coming faster as she saw the blurring faces of the crowd turn into segmented, bleeding bodies.

“We recognize the Maiden’s triumph, besting both the mountains and herself. Her blood binds her as surely as the blood of the Children binds us to the Great Huntress. It is only through the Blood and Force that the Maiden may lead our hunters,” Deshanna spoke as she stepped in front of her. She held now in her hand a small oak branch, its leafy ends tied together by a course leather strip.

The Keeper dipped the leafy ends into the bowl of blood, soaking them in the sacred liquid. As she brought it back in front of Elain, she saw the leaves drip with the blood, slow and languid, slipping off like drops of rain. She swallowed deeply as she awaited her consecration. 

“We bind the Maiden to the Lady of the Hunt, to serve with her life, so that The Lady will turn Her gaze upon us,” Deshanna droned as she slid the blood-soaked branch across Elain’s arm. It felt sharper than she imagined it would.

“ _We bind her,”_ the crowd answered the chant.

“We bind the Maiden to the life of Vir Tanadahl, so she may guide us down the path the Sister of the Moon has given the People,” Deshanna brushed the blood over her other arm. It felt like sharp teeth digging into her skin, making it throb and burn all at the same time. She only glanced down momentarily and saw maggots crawling all over her arm where the blood sat. She blinked her eyes tightly in an effort to make it go away, but the damned worms still were still there.

“ _We bind her_.”

The clan’s voices sounded distorted to her now, as if she were hearing them underwater. They were muffled but still ponderous, like the drums still playing. The noise flooded her ears while her skin crawled at the sight of the phantom maggots climbing up and down her. She summoned all her will to stop herself from panicking. This is her moment. This was not something she would give up.

“We bind the Maiden so the Mother of Hares may be exalted; never shall a lover steal her heart from her bow, never shall a child on her breast stop her from hunting, never shall anything in this life prevent her from serving Her Will,” the leaves left a trail of blood and worms down her stomach.

_“We bind her.”_

The bodies of segmented elves writhing on the ground made her heart race and chest hurt, and the drums seemed to match the ample beating in her breast. She blinked rapidly this time, feeling tears of panic beginning to form, and nearly cried out when the illusions did not disappear. There was nothing to ground her. The room began to spin, and she looked up to find familiar faces. Her father, the hunters, Sohta…all were gone and replaced by bloodied and thrashing bodies.

But there was still Old Bida. She sat among the bodies, poised as always, looking straight at her. Her wizened face spoke of understanding, and she mouthed slowly, “ _It’s not real_.”

The illusion began to vanish. The bloodied bodies turned to ash and floated towards the open ceiling, leaving only the faces of her clan members, all waiting with expectant stares as the ceremony continued. Even the quickening drums slowed again, meeting the rhythm of her heartbeat once more. The overwhelming atmosphere that invaded her mind lifted, and she was able to see clearly again.

“Rise, Elain of Clan Lavellan,” Deshanna said as her thoughts cleared, “You are now consecrated. Go into the domain of the Goddess and commune with Her in peace.”

The audience broke out in applause, smiling faces congratulating her on her dedication, and she smiled politely back. Paeris and Sar’een, still holding her arms, lifted her from the ground, helping steady her on her feet. She felt weaker than she wanted, and her legs trembled. Deshanna pulled on Sar’een’s arm and had her follow her towards the Council to mingle and gossip. The ceremony was now over. Everyone would sing and laugh and drink tonight, while she sat in darkness.

Paeris leaned into her ear, “I need to grab Revas. I’ll be right back.”

He walked down the dais and up to her Shadow, and she noticed Old Bida coming past him, climbing the steps with shaking limbs. When she found herself next to Elain, Bida looked her up and down, her crippled hands gripping her tall walking stick tightly.

“The Will of the Goddess is oppressive,” she whispered to her as they watched Paeris and Revas discuss something with animated movements, “And the Mantle is a heavy burden. You will need to learn to carry that weight.”

“I can carry any weight,” Elain replied, though her voice did not sound convincing. She doubted she could convince anyone of her strength in this moment.

Paeris and Rev’s conversation died down, and both moved to climb up the dais towards the Maidens now. Old Bida leaned against her, making Elain support her failing body.

“The blood will always rot your mind,” Bida said quietly, “And it will always call to the mountains. It is the nature of being the Maiden. The visions will come to you less over time, but never diminish. I still see the maggots in every piece of meat I consume.”

Elain nodded at her but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Bida was the only one who knows who she endured, what she still endures. Her words were not meant as comfort, but rather, a statement of fact. This is how it would always be. It was the burden that came with the power of the Maiden.

The men reached them and Paeris took Old Bida’s arm to support her. “Sorry. I needed to make sure you’re protected tonight. The Veil is thin here, and regardless of my magic, something could still break through. Revas will keep watch.”

They began to walk towards the tall golden doors that led to the inner sanctum. They shone a bright cobalt blue from a magical ward that had been erected to keep away intruders and blasphemers. The ward looked like water to her, a swirling pool of energy flowing like a stream. It was magic she was familiar with, unlike the visions.

“You know he can’t come into the inner sanctum, Paeris,” Elain said impassively, staring at the towering doors.

“Don’t need to go inside to drop a demon,” Revas responded as he tapped his bow. She turned and faced him.

“Fine,” she stated, crossing her arms over her chest, “But don’t open the doors unless I call for you directly.”

He made an exaggerated bow, leaning down with his waist. “By your command, Maiden.”

“Enough fretting. Open the doors, boy,” Old Bida said with irritation before pushing Paeris towards the magical barrier.  

He gave a sigh, but did as he was told. His hands went up against the barrier and began to glow the same cobalt as the doors themselves. Sparks of what looked like lightening pressed against his fingertips, and the flow of the magical energy was disrupted. The swirling hues of blue began to give way to white cracks as he pushed against it, making a noise similar to shattering glass. With a sudden surge, the wall of energy dissolved, and flecks of sparkling remnants fell to the ground and evaporated. The process left a metallic taste in Elain’s mouth.

Paeris swung the doors open with a loud grunt. Old Bida tapped her walking stick against the ground at his feet. Even he was not allowed inside. He stepped back and made way for Elain and Bida to enter. Elain crooked her arm in Bida’s and felt her shaking violently.

The inner sanctum was almost pitch black, but for the light of the great hall shining in. The light illuminated a mosaic on the far back wall, making two golden tiles gleam brightly, like the eyes of a cat. It was the face of the Mother of Hares. Elain and Bida both stopped, bowed their heads, and mumbled the sanctifying prayer.

_“Ma bor’assan suledin.”_

In the middle of the room stood a great marble slab, about waist high, and stained dark brown; the only thing remaining of rituals and rites long since gone. Elain drug her fingers across the surface, and was surprised to find how cool it was. She wished she was allowed to light a brazier inside the sanctum to keep warm tonight.

“Steel yourself, Maiden. The Goddess awaits,” Old Bida said before turning to leave the room. She hit her stick on the floor again, and Paeris scrambled to shut the doors behind her. Elain watched with dawning despair as the light of the great hall slowly vanished behind those ominous doors.

They closed with a heavy crack, and she was left in the penetrating darkness of the room. She reached out and searched for the slab, and drew her hand back when she realized she may be touching the blood stains left there fifty years ago by Bida herself. The fear from the illusions she saw earlier still lingered, and the darkness of the room was absolute. She was disappointed in her weakness, and set her resolve to see this through. It was far too late to turn back now.

Shivering, she climbed onto the cold slab and closed her eyes, inviting sleep to take her.

 

-–

 

_She dangled her feet and calves into the warm stream, feeling content; perhaps even happy now. Her frozen bones had thawed, her clouded thoughts had cleared, and the Black Forest had finally welcomed her as one of its own. Her ascension to Maiden was finally complete._

_The black grass was no longer jagged and glass, but soft and inviting. She ran her fingers over it gently, and watched as golden flowers bloomed to meet her. Golden petals fell on her as well, shaken loose by the warm breeze flowing through the branches of the flowering trees. Strange animals frolicked in the clearing near her, but they were peaceful and calming instead of horrifying. Elain felt this may be the closest she had ever been to pure bliss._

_But even as a fully realized Maiden, Elain always wanted more. The blooming golden flowers warmed parts of her as they always did, and as she lounged in the grass, she wished that she could find some relief from the expanding longing that coursed through her._

_Being Maiden in her Goddess’ domain had its privileges though. As soon as the thought graced her mind, she heard the water in the stream divert and looked to see her heart’s desire come to worship her. She smiled to herself, thankful for the gift, and was unafraid to moan as he ran his hands up her legs and pushed them apart. His mouth found and tasted her inner thighs, biting with hungry teeth, but quickly moved its way to her tantalizing core. She flushed with pleasure as his tongue slid inside of her, and a garden of blossoms grew where her body touched the ground. Her hips ground against him, and his hands gripped her hips tightly, nails digging in and breaking her skin. The beads of blood that seeped out were like golden dust, glittering and warm. Her entire body felt glittering and warm, and when she looked down him, past the crown of hair on his head, the markings on his back were golden as well._

_She reached her peak quickly, and made whimpering cries as she finally found her release in the Black Forest. The tiny hairs on her skin were gold, and her dream Revas rested his golden head against her stomach._  

_Then she saw Her. The Woman sat on an outcrop of black rocks that the stream flowed through. Her golden spear was in the water, great clouds of steam arising from it. Elain held the phantom Revas against her tightly in fear. She had the foolish notion that he could protect her here. He could not._

_She glared at Elain, Her teeth bared, with a lazy foot swinging to and fro in the stream. She did not wear Her armor, but Her naked form was just as frightening. The inky blackness eddied around Her, a cloak of dark magic clinging to Her skin. She slowly stood, and Elain's chest began to hurt in fear. Her heart banged against the walls of her ribs and she couldn't find her breath. She choked and gasped, digging her fingers into her lover, silently begging for help. He laid with her, hands still on her hips, his own breathing low and level._

_The Woman made to walk forward, but as soon as Her foot touched the ground in Her first step, Her entire being evaporated into the inky bitumen that dripped the writhing maggots. The oily substance flowed down the stream at an alarming speed, leaving a wake of drowning worms as it did, making it to Elain within a matter of seconds. The Woman reformed right before her, a towering Goddess who could crush her beneath Her munificent heel. Elain was horrified. She cried, knowing now she should not have taken pleasure in the Goddess' domain._

_“Welcome Maiden,” Andruil thundered, thousands of voices speaking at once. Elain sobbed._

_The Goddess cocked her head and frowned._

_“Why do you cry, my Maiden? Did I not allow you to enjoy yourself? Will you forsake what I have given so readily?”_

_She shook in terror, her insides threatening to spill out, “N-no, Most High One.”_

_“Good,” the Goddess smiled again, her dragon's teeth shining bright red, “But I do not give freely. A price must always be paid.”_

_Faster than anything Elain had ever seen, Andruil grabbed the head of her lover, yanking him out of her arms, and threw his body into the water. Before she could react, Her foot came down and held him under the flowing stream as Her Golden Spear rose over Her head. Elain screamed as the Golden Spear lunged into his chest, and a bright flash of light escaped from the mortal wound. The Spear itself pulsed with its own golden light, and grew brighter as it absorbed the flash exiting the body of the dream Revas._

_The Goddess laughed as his body melted into a pile of the worms, oily magic spilling from Her mouth and falling on Her breasts, making maggots form and crawl down Her body as well. Her mouth seemed to grow wider and wider with each breath, ripping apart and leaving a gaping maw from ear to ear, dotted with the conical dragon’s teeth._

_“He..he didn't do anything! It was my price to pay. I was the one who agreed to the sacrifice,” Elain cried, the pain of the death shaking her. The golden blossoms surrounding her evaporated into golden dust, and the grass she sat trembling on once again turned to jagged, cutting glass._

_“You don't get to decide what sacrifice is, impudent one. It is by my whim and mine alone,” She was no longer laughing, and Her voice clawed at Elain's brain, sharp knives dragging along the inside of her skull. Elain doubled over in pain, and the warm stream, the tall trees, the jagged glass – all of it – turned to black dust. The Black Forest dissipated entirely, and she was left crying in a void as the Goddess loomed over her._

_“Take heart, Maiden. There is nothing I want from you now. However, you should remember that lives are short…but a soul is eternal,” Andruil warned her, the crackling strikes of red light between Her sharpened teeth the only thing illuminating this void._

_“Now...wake up.”_

 

_–-_

 

Her eyes opened slowly, but her lashes stuck together from salty tears still clinging there. She sat up on the slab and hugged her arms to her body, still shaking from the dream, still covered in the blood from the night before. It was quiet in the inner sanctum. There wasn't even the sound of the celebrations going on outside. She had no idea how long she had slept, but her back was stiff and her hips sore.

She threw her legs over the side of the slab and lowered herself to the ground. Her body was still unsteady, still shambling, but she forced herself to walk over to the large doors. Elain did not want to be here anymore.

“Revas?” she called his name softly, hoping he could hear her. There was some shuffling outside and she saw a shadow under the crack of the door as someone approached.

“Yes, Peach?”

She let out a breath of air she didn't know she was holding when she heard his voice, and pressed her forehead against the door.

“Is it morning?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, “Most of the clan is gathered, waiting for you to come out. I'd like to see you come out too, but only so we can get this over with. Planning on sneaking you away to this great little empty grove...” She laughed lightly.

“It's nice to see your priorities are in order,” she teased him, the fog of the dream lifting from her.

“You were the one dressed in nothing but gold last night,” he said, his voice low and impish, “It took all my willpower not to follow you in there after everyone had scattered.”

“If that's the case….I’m impressed. We all know how good Shem'assan is at controlling himself,” she joked, and she heard him snort. He was alive. That was what mattered. It’s like Bida said. _It’s not real._

But it had seemed so real. It haunted her. Every nightmare about that place would haunt her. The glowing teeth and thundering voice of her Goddess would haunt her. This is what it meant to serve Her.

“Tell them I’m ready,” she said to him. He didn’t need to affirm her order, and she heard his footsteps as he walked away. She waited patiently, wishing that Deshanna and Bida would hurry and prepare themselves. The darkness ate away at her.

Shortly after, the footsteps returned, and she heard the heavy doors creak loudly as they were pushed open again.

Her eyes adjusted to the light as morning poured into the desolate sanctum, and a hundred expectant faces fell on her once again. She walked past Revas and his post at the door, down the path to the dais where she was dedicated the night before. The golden bowl of blood still stood there, and she could nearly taste the copper in her mouth. Deshanna and her brother stood on either side of the pedestal holding the bowl and watched her approach.

But it was Old Bida who met her. She still had the Mantle wrapped around her shoulders; black and gray and made of the soft fur of rabbits that could only be found in the Arlathan Forest. Leather straps and a large, ornate clasp held the sacred piece of clothing shut. It had been worn by every Maiden for as long as the clan could remember.

“Welcome, Maiden of the Hunt,” she said, her voice bitter and cold, “Clan Lavellan greets you.”

Elain knelt before her, bowing her head. Old Bida's shaking hands loosened the clasp holding the Mantle closed, and slipped it off. Underneath, Bida was frail and thin, her protruding bones and wrinkled neck showing her advanced age. Losing the Mantle seemed to cost her the entire fifty years she had worn it.

Her trembling hands laid it on Elain’s shoulders, unsteady fingers shutting the clasp. She stepped away from her, and sat down on the little stool that always stood waiting. Old Bida’s eyes betrayed a lifetime of pain and regret as she watched her title physically pass onto another.

“May our clan prosper under your guidance.”

Elain rose with her Mantle, and watched her clan and kin throw flowers in the air and cheer, filling the shrine with an aura of joy. It was a joyful occasion, after all. She had finally received what she had been working for all these long years. Had finally claimed what had been promised to her since her birth.

As she walked out of the shrine with a parade of dancing and singing behind her, she felt disattached and weak. The Mantle itself was heavy. Heavier than any cloak, any armor. It pressed into her shoulders and dug far into her skin. It was full of Blood and Force, just as her Goddess was so rightly named, and she felt it penetrate her soul. She knew it was all an illusion as well, that the Mantle was no heavier than any other article of clothing. It didn't matter. The burden of it was tied to a different world than this one.

Old Bida was right. She would have to learn to carry this weight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir ghilana mir din'an - I guide you into death
> 
> Ma bor'assan suledin - My bow endures


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paeris joins the Diceni and life goes on.

Thunder rolled across the empty plateaus of the northernmost parts of the Free Marches. The late autumn air was cold, and grew colder as great billowing clouds of dark blue-gray storms approached. The Hundred Pillars of Tevinter loomed miles and miles ahead, but Clan Lavellan would not be going that far. They needed only wait for the mounted escort of the Diceni to arrive, and they seemed to be coming in time with the storms themselves.

Sar’een thought it fitting that they did. She watched them gallop over the plateau, kicking up dust on their armored mounts. They looked like vengeance on swift wings; true children of Elgar’nan in his aspect as The Earth Shaker. They were Divine Retribution; so powerful, it changed the shape of the earth itself. And somewhere in that horde of grim-faced elves was War Lord Threlen.

She had grown up hearing stories of him. Everyone had. The Diceni had always worshipped The Earth Shaker, but never actually lived up to their patron until Threlen came to power. He had overthrown the previous War Lord in hand-to-hand combat, by rights of the Old Ways. Some say he won it through guile, others by brute force. Either way, the previous War Lord took his last breath and Threlen ascended. After, he turned his band of hunters into soldiers, and reorganized the clan entirely. Whispers travelled as to how he did this; some saying it was through intimidation and a brutal campaign of exile and executions, but nothing was for sure.

Once his hunters were well-trained and efficient to his standards, Threlen sold them out as soldiers of fortune in human skirmishes and land wars, asking only for property rights once it was over. He ended up walking away with three semi-permanent settlements where the Diceni cultivated land and livestock. They swiftly rose from a medium-sized clan of no importance to the most powerful clan in the north. Not all clans looked on their ascent favorably, but Paeris told her that the ones who did not were too steeped in the Old Ways. Sar’een usually agreed with him, but fighting wars for shemlen seemed wrong to her.

The clan waited patiently for Threlen and his entourage to arrive. She stood next to Paeris and Deshanna, and Elain stood with the party of hunters brought along to make sure the transfer went smoothly. Elain was dressed in her full Maiden regalia, the Mantle sitting comfortably on her shoulders, as if she had been wearing it her entire life. Her Shadow stood tall behind her, of course. Wherever she went, he was there as well. The pair certainly looked intimidating. She wasn’t sure why Elain presented herself in a way that was usually left for ceremonies, but Elain always had a reason. She probably wanted to make sure the Diceni knew that Clan Lavellan were far from peaceful themselves.

There was a loud whispering coming from the hunters, and Sar’een realized a greeting party from the Diceni horde had disembarked and were riding towards them now.

Leading it was a man with graying hair, tied tightly into a top knot on his head. His face was heavily marred by years of warfare, and his left eye seemed to be entirely scarred shut. His mouth was grim, and Elgar’nan’s vallaslin dominated his face. Like all Diceni, he wore heavy leathers and furs decorated with brightly colored thread embroidered onto it. On his shoulder perched a massive golden eagle, larger than any she had seen, that stared ahead as if calculating its next meal. Sar’een knew the Diceni used eagles to hunt the plateaus and basins of the northern Marches near the edges of Tevinter, but this beast was large enough to take down a wolf. It made her nervous.

“Anetha ara, Clan Lavellan,” the man said, his voice deep and hoarse. She noticed that the left side of his mouth did not move when he spoke. Probably caused by the same injury that lost him his eye. “Welcome to the The Basin.”

“War Lord Threlen, I presume?” Elain spoke first, her tone sharp.

“You presume correctly, da’len,” he answered caustically. Sar’een felt the tips of her ears burn. Whether he intended to patronize her or not, she knew Elain wouldn’t take kindly to being referred to as a child. Especially now that she wore the Mantle.

“A pleasure,” she responded tactfully, but Sar’een could see her lips purshing, “I am Elain, Maiden of the Hunt of this clan. You’ve come to take away my brother.”

Threlen looked her up and down, and she could see dawning realization light up his good eye.

“Of course. I should’ve known, given your attire. Ir abelas, lethallan,” Threlen made a curt bow to her, and she seemed satisfied with his apology.

“There is no harm done, War Lord. I am standing in for my father, Master Vhannas, today. He sends his regards, and his apologies. The trip to The Basin would have been too trying on him,” Elain said as Threlen walked up to the Paeris.’

He looked between Paeris and Elain, his mouth turned down into a frown, “A pity. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen Vhannas. Will you handle the negotiations?”

“A pity indeed,” Paeris cut in, his voice slightly tinged with bitterness, “But Elain is more than capable. Deshanna will make sure all trades are fair. Are you prepared?”

Threlen nodded solemnly.

“To begin, the offer of twenty halla is far too small for a prominent First among the clans…” Elain started.

Sar’een turned and watched the lightening flash across the sky in the distance, trying not to think about what it meant once everything is settled. She was going to miss Paeris when he was gone. He’s been the only mentor she’s ever known, the closest thing she’s had to a brother. He was there when she first came into her magic, and although they had a rough start, she grew to love him more than any friend in the clan. She touched her hair lightly, remembering some of the more terrifying times with him. But Paeris had always protected her, was always patient with her. For all the shortcomings so many other clan members found with him, he had been the foundation on which she grew as a mage…and as a person.

The coming storm brought a bitter chill in the air now, and she hugged her arms close to her chest. The winter would arrive soon and the thought made her heart ache. It would be the first one without him staying up late next to his hearth, reading her his translations of the old texts. The first one without them sharing a warm cup of milk together on the coldest days when leaving his yurt seemed as hard as reconquering the Dales. Tears clung to her eyes, and loud thunder cracked across The Basin.

“Then we’re agreed; thirty five halla, ten sacks of flour from our personal stock, and of course, a betrothal between Paeris and my daughter, Hellan,” Threlen’s voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her back into the moment.

“Yes. The standard policy applies. Paeris must be sent to Clan Lavellan for any judgments within the first year of his stay with your clan for any wrong doings he may commit. Afterwards, the Diceni may deal with him at their own discretion,” Elain stated. Paeris looked very uncomfortable to be subjected to watching his younger sister negotiate on his behalf.

“It’s done. Do you accept the terms, Paeris?” Keeper Deshanna asked.

“Yes,” he responded seriously. His brow was furrowed and he fidgeted with the pack on his shoulder.

“Say your goodbyes. We need to ride out these storms,” Threlen said brusquely before walking back to his mount, his large eagle fluttering its wings at the sudden movement. His entourage waited patiently, but their halla themselves were acting skittish. This storm was making them nervous, and Sar’een felt the same sense of unease.

Elain laid her hand on Paeris’ shoulder, and looked at him intensely, “Farewell for now, brother. Walk in Our Lady’s Grace, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent.”

He nodded and tapped her hand lightly, and she withdrew it and turned to walk away. Revas mumbled his own goodbye, and then followed the Maiden and her hunters as they made their way back to the camp set up nearby. It was a stiff, impersonal farewell, and it saddened Sar’een to think that no one but her would care if Paeris was gone. Even his own father made excuses not to see him off. There had always been bad blood between the two, but she thought it was cruel of Master Vhannas to ignore his son’s departure. That cruelness lived in Elain too, it seemed. She was afraid for Paeris. So afraid. A new life, a new clan, and he’d be their leader with the shadow of Threlen looming over him. And he was all alone.

Paeris did not seem bothered at all. His demeanor was calm and collected as always, the discomfort from the negotiations passing quickly. He turned and faced her.

“I guess this is it, Sar’een. Promise you’ll write to me often,” his voice was warm and he smiled widely at her. The thought of not hearing that warmth everyday…

Her resolve began to break. Tears welled up in her eyes, hot and fast, and pooled until they spilled over onto her cheeks. She felt her lip quiver in trying to stop the tears, but it was a pointless endeavor. She would miss him. More than she could bear.

“I will, hahren,” the tears came faster now, her breath hitching in her throat, “I wish you could stay.”

Her voice cracked, and she lost the little control she had. Heavy, wracking sobs escaped her, and her shoulders shook with the weight of loss. She tried to be brave, tried to be strong, but she wasn’t Elain. She wasn’t Vhannas. She wasn’t anyone but herself, and all she could do is think about how much she loved Paeris and how hollow her life will be without him. His arms wrapped around her immediately, and she spilled her grief into his chest, her sobs now muffled by him.

“Shhh shhh,” he whispered to her, rocking with her gently, “It’ll be alright, Little Dove. We will see each other again.”

The sound of his nickname for her cut her through, straight to her heart, and she wept uncontrollably now. He stroked her hair and let her spend her tears, until she hiccupped for lack of air. He leaned forwards and kissed the top of her head, a soft and patient gesture. One she appreciated so much.

“No more tears, dove. You are First now, and a Keeper must never let the clan see them as weak. You will have to be strong for everyone,” he cupped her jaw and tilted her chin upwards to look him in his eyes, “Can you do that for me?”

She shook her head in agreement, and he smiled before placing one more kiss on her forehead. Deshanna wrapped her arm around her shoulder, and rubbed her bicep in comfort.

“She’ll be fine, da’len. Go now,” she told him, her voice brooking no argument, “May the soles of your feet be firm.”

He took one last look at the two mages, his eyes giving away his own hesitation, but it was gone as quick and it came. He adjusted his pack, and walked to the waiting escort and the War Lord. Threlen directed him towards an unmanned halla, and Paeris climbed on. The party rode away to join the rest of the bulk of the Diceni, and Deshanna and Sar’een watched until they disappeared in a flurry of kicked up dust and thunder.

The storm was upon them now. Heavy blankets of rain fell from the heavens and crashed into the dusty ground, and the wind blew with a vengeance as sure as the All Father Himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Banal'ras means "shadow" in elven.


End file.
